These Little Moments
by yabookreader96
Summary: Little missing moments/one-shots from NCIS between Tony and Ziva that serve to further develop their characters and/or plot. These one-shots take place either during or after an episode. (This story started out as 'A Grain of Salt,' a one-shot taking place after the episode "Under Covers". That is now the first one-shot/chapter 1 of the story. Will eventually address s13 finale.)
1. A Grain of Salt

**Author's Note:** Evidently, I write NCIS (Tiva) fanfic now. Who knows, this may be the only story I ever write, but I'm re-watching the show starting from season three because of the season 13 finale. Like much of the fandom, I believe that Ziva is alive and somehow she, Tony, and Tali will be reunited and have the happy ending that Tony and Ziva deserve. (If anyone has a good fic rec about that, if you'd PM and let me know, I'd be forever thankful.)

After watching season 3 episode 8, ("Under Covers") I was basically hit with a missing scene between Tony and Ziva, and thought, what's the harm? So I wrote it. It takes place after the episode ends; after Ziva drives Tony home. This is my first NCIS fic (and maybe my only NCIS fic), so please don't judge too harshly! And thank you for reading!

* * *

"Turn right up here."Silently, I put on my blinker and turn down the street Tony pointed to.

"Ziva," he says now. Not a question, just a statement.

Still, I could tell there was something more he wasn't saying, and in the darkness I could practically hear him contemplating whether or not he should speak.

"Tony?" When I say his name it's a question, an attempt at prompting him to continue. I glance over at him. His face is mostly shadows in the darkness, but when we pass under a street lamp I can see his tense features clearly.

"I'm just trying to figure out why you wanted to drive me home?" he asks. There's his signature aloof quality in the way he speaks, but I can still hear his deep-seated need to know, to understand, the truth. "McGee knows where I live. Abby knows where I live. You don't. And who knows where my addled brain might lead us."

"I don't think you're that confused," I evade the question.

"Ziva, why?" he asks, point blank this time. No underlying joking.

"I wanted to ask you a question," I saw vaguely, because I wasn't sure I really wanted to ask him yet.

"Slow down, my apartment is right around the corner," Tony points his index finger at the tall building looming in the dark.

We don't say anything until I've pulled into his parking spot and hurried around the side of the car to help him out. McGee and Abby were no longer here with me and if he collapsed like he did in the Squad Room, I'd have a hard time getting him up.

Again, Tony wraps his arm around my shoulder and I ease the door shut behind him before wrapping my arm around his torso to help support his weight. However, after a few steps I am able to acutely realize that Tony is no longer dizzy and is for the most part walking on his own. But he doesn't remove his arm from my shoulder. And for some reason I don't remove my arm from around him either.

The enigmatic quality to this scenario prompts me to speak again.

"Abby, who loves everybody, hates me," I pause, but Tony says nothing. "Sometimes I think Gibbs accepts me as part of the team, but most the time I feel like he's shutting me out. You purposefully drive me crazy – "

"Well, actually, that comes naturally," Tony remarks.

I ignore him. "And McGee only likes me because I've taken his place as the new guy."

I'm essentially just thinking out loud, and I'm thankful to Tony for saying nothing as we wordlessly ride up the elevator. He's letting me figure this out for myself.

"And yet," I continue once the elevator doors open. Tony points to the left and we start heading in that direction. "I've never felt that my contributions, abilities…efforts… _my life_ have been more valued. I don't quite understand that."

I glance up at Tony and he tilts his head and smiles, and I just know a snarky retort is about to come out of his mouth. But then the smile dies. "You don't have to get it."

"Just take it with a grain of sand, I guess," I sigh.

"A grain of _salt_ , Ziva," Tony corrects me. He stops in front of a door and reaches into his pocket to reveal a set of keys.

I watch, still mulling over everything, as he works to unlock his door without removing his arm from around my shoulder. It almost makes me smile, and I even if I didn't get to ask him my question, I think I'd still know the answer.

But then as if reading my mind, Tony glances back at me, narrowing his eyes as he opens the door. "You never asked me your question," he says.

"Why did you do that today?" I blurt. "Why would you risk your life for me?"

Immediately, Tony opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. After a moment he shrugs. "I don't know," he smiles.

"Another grain of salt, I suppose," I resign. "Either way, thank you, Tony."

We are already in an embrace, but I turn to face him, wrapping my other arm around him, and pulling him into a hug. I feel him reach his other arm behind me and then rest his chin on my head.

"You're welcome, Ziva," he says, and I feel the words vibrate through his chest.

After a moment, I pull away first. I nod at him, suddenly feeling this connection. We understood each other somehow, with knowing very little about each other.

"I'll pick you up at six tomorrow?" I turn around and start walking away.

"Six? AM? Wait, you're taking my car?" Tony asks frantically.

I'm halfway down the hall before I turn to face him. "Yes," I say slowly. "Good night, Tony."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Throughout the show, Tony takes risks to save Ziva (and vice versa), but this is really the first time that we get to see it. Coming from Mossad, I feel that Ziva might be somewhat perplexed by this behavior, especially from Tony. The episode never really talks about this stepping stone in their relationship, so I took the liberty to do it myself (lol). I wanted to see Ziva working this out, and I hope you enjoyed my version of that.


	2. What's in it for Me?

**Author's Note:** So I've changed the title of this story from 'A Grain of Salt' to 'These Little Moments' because I decided it would be better to post all my Tiva one-shots as chapters in one-story rather than multiple separate stories. Chapter 1 then, is 'A Grain of Salt.'

This one-shot entitled 'What's in it for Me?', chapter 2 then, takes place at the end of season 3 episode 20, "Untouchable." I was watching that episode and two things struck me. One, when Gibbs, Tony, Ziva, and Tim are search the house for the flashcard, everyone falls asleep (except Gibbs, of course), and Ziva ends up resting her head on Tony's shoulder (cue the awwwws). And two, Ziva wants to teach Tony to play the piano again, because she thinks they would have fun. I'd totally forgotten about this little moment, and I started flailing like the fangirl I am, and I knew I'd have to write something more on this. This is actually what inspired the new name for this series of one-shots because for me, Tiva's not just about all the sexual tension and sly grins, its these little moments of sincerity that really make me ship Tony and Ziva.

* * *

"You three go home, get some rest. Good job," Gibbs tells us, and I have little time to ponder over the fact that Gibbs just praised us by telling us _Good job_ , because McGee and Ziva are already out the door of MTAC and headed down the stairs to the Squad Room.

"Ziva!" I say as I hurry down the stairs, placing emphasis on the second syllable of her name like I often did because I suspected it annoyed her. "Don't go anywhere, we've got some paperwork to finish."

"Can't we do that later, Tony?" she asks as I make my way behind my desk. "I'm exhausted."

"It'll only take a minute," I motion for her to come over. "Where are the papers?"

Ziva watches me for a moment. She narrows her eyes, and I can tell she's trying to figure out what I am up to. But finally, her curiosity wins over and she brings over the paperwork.

I take the papers from her and lean back in my chair. It takes me a minute to find what exactly I'm looking for, but then I quickly fill in the necessary information and pass it back to Ziva, who is waiting with her arms crossed in front of my desk.

She silently takes the paper and reads over what I've done. Then she shifts her eyes up to me. "You put yourself as the driver," she says. It's not a question, but I can tell she's looking for an explanation.

"I did," I agree with her, but I say nothing else.

Ziva sighs and puts the papers on her desk before turning back to me. "Okay, so what's in it for you?" she asks.

"What's in it for me?" I stand up. "How about those piano lessons you offered me?"

Ziva was very good at hiding her emotions, but I can tell how surprised she is by this in the slight widening of her eyes. "Wait, really?" she actually sounds a little hopeful.

"Yep, let's go," I start to move toward the elevator, indicating that she should follow.

"Now?" she asks, incredulous. "Tony, I'm exhausted. And where are we supposed to find a piano?" she refutes, but she has followed me into the elevator anyways.

"Easy," I shrug. "I've got one in my apartment."

o-o-o

"This is a beautiful piano, Tony," Ziva says impressed, as she runs her hands along its edge. "Do you ever play it? At all?" she glances up at me to where I stand a few feet away.

"No," I step forward. "But thanks to you that might change."

"Don't get your hopes up, Tony," Ziva chuckles, moving to sit on the bench. "I've never actually taught someone to play before."

"Then why'd you offer to teach me?" I ask, confused.

"Because I think it's a shame that you no longer play, whereas you once used to," Ziva says simply. Then she spins around on the bench to face the piano, her back to me. "Plus, I think it could be fun."

"Fun?" Now it's my turn to laugh. "To be honest, I'm afraid you might kill me. How is that fun?"

Ziva turns around on the bench again. "It's better than going home and doing nothing," she says, but then she quickly closes her mouth, realizing that she has shared more than she was originally willing.

"What – " I start, but Ziva continues to speak.

"Tony, you and the rest of our team at NCIS are my only friends here in the states. It makes for a very lonely life sometimes, going home at the end of the day by myself. It's…nice to be in the company of someone else," she says quietly. "Even if it _is_ you," she tacks on at the end with her signature snark.

I'm not sure what to say and there is the moment of nothingness in which neither of us speaks.

Ziva clears her throat a moment later, always the first to break the spell. "Now, come sit," she scoots over to the end of the bench and taps the spot next to her. Wordlessly, I join her. "Do you know how to play the scale?" she asks.

"Don't insult me, David," I quip.

"I'm sorry, but all I know is that you once knew how to play the piano. Who knows what you remember?" Ziva explains.

"Uh huh," I say, not buying it.

"Then play," Ziva crosses her arms. I don't move. She nods her head at the piano.

I oblige, moving my thumb to middle C. I proceed to play up the scale, back down, and then repeat this with my left hand.

"Very good, Tony," Ziva clasps her hands together, genuinely happy for me. "Now, do you know how to read music?" she asks.

"A little," I admit.

"Do you have any music?" Ziva's eyes light up with excitement.

"In the bench," I say, and we both rise from the bench and I reach in and pull out one of the many teaching books I'd had as a child and had for some reason decided to keep all these years.

Ziva says nothing about how the book I have provided is filled with songs like Mary Had a Little Lamb and Jingle Bells and not classical pieces by Beethoven or Chopin, and instead flips open to a page and asks me to play. My issue has less to do with being able to read the music, and more to do with the actual playing of the notes. But Ziva is surprisingly patient, demonstrating the way I should play when I have difficulties and at times even moves my hands for me. It should be embarrassing, but it's not.

She laughs a lot too. But not a taunting laugh. It's the laugh of someone who is enjoying herself, plain and simple; just having fun. It strikes me as odd, somehow. From day one, Ziva David has constantly been laughing and smiling, which is a rarity for someone who has seen so much death and destruction like she had in the Mossad. I don't think I'd ever met someone so willingly open and fun.

"Okay, Tony," I think that's enough lesson for now," Ziva says eventually, failing to suppress a yawn. "I'm exhausted."

I don't know what makes me decide to bring it up now, especially since I didn't bring it up before, but I wouldn't be Anthony DiNozzo if I let this one go. "I'm surprised, Ziva. It seemed like you had a good nap on my shoulder when we were at Lieutenant Hill's house not too long ago."

Ziva turns away from me, trying not to blush.

"I must say, Officer David, that wasn't very professional," I continue.

"Oh, shut up Tony," Ziva snaps. "You were asleep too. And you want to talk about unprofessional? Who changes their shirt in the middle of the Squad Room?"

I laugh, preparing to make some comment about how that wasn't a big deal, but then I realize that she makes a point. I clear my throat uncomfortably. "Touché," I nod. Then I change the subject. "Okay, Ziva. You can go home. But not until you play something," I gesture to the piano.

"What?" she asks.

"Ziva, Ziva, Ziva," I shake my head. "Do you really think I'd let you get away without playing anything? You haven't even played a single note."

Ziva meets my gaze steadily, contemplating. "Fine," she says slowly after a moment. "Move," she pushes me, hard, off the bench. I recover quickly, thankfully, so I don't stumble to the floor.

Ziva stares at the piano for a few moments, then tentatively moves her hands to hover over the keys. After another moment she begins to play. It's a classical piece I recognize. But it's not Beethoven or Chopin. I listen to her play, and after a minute it comes to me.

"Clair de Lune," I say. I wasn't sure about the composer though.

"I'm impressed, Tony," Ziva glances up at me before shifting her gaze back down to the piano. "By the French composer Claude-Achille Debussy," she says in a perfect French accent. "Clair de Lune is French for 'moonlight'."

Ziva had mentioned a few times that she loved Paris. But I was beginning to wonder how deep her love of the French culture ran. "French, huh?" I ask.

"Yes," Ziva smiles, reading my thoughts. "But I also like this song for its simplicity. It's beautiful without being showy, you know?" she asks. But I know this question is rhetorical and that she is not looking for an answer.

We both remain silent as she finishes the piece. There is a look of pure happiness and peacefulness to her features, and I begin to wonder if this was more a reward for Ziva then it was for me. Either way, I found that I was happy that I was the one to give it to her. And that was all the reward I needed.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Two more quick things. I didn't really notice until I started re-watching NCIS, but Ziva really is someone who is quick to smile and laugh, which really is surprising for someone who has seen so much death in her life. At this point Tony might be starting to realize how rare that is, but he doesn't even know that she killed her brother, so it really is true. Also, two: if you want, you should google 'Clair de Lune' be Debussy on youtube. It's such a beautiful song, and it really sets the mood, I think, for that scene.

Also, I wanted to thank the guest reviewers for 'A Grain of Salt'. Your kind comments really gave me the encouragement to continue with this. And I look forward to continuing to write for NCIS.


	3. Always There for You

**Author's Note:** Skipping way ahead to season 5 episode 16, "Recoil". Nothing up until this point has really struck me as being left unfinished, at least regarding Tony and Ziva. However, in this episode we see Tony concerned and worried about Ziva and her dismissing him and telling him repeatedly that she is fine. Instead, Ziva turns to Michael, whose intentions, even if he was innocent, were not pure, at least it didn't feel that way to me. He was physically attracted to Ziva which is why he tries to comfort her. Meanwhile, Ziva dismisses Tony who tries to comfort her purely because he cares about her as a person. I'd like to think that at some point, Ziva would realize that Tony is really there for her, and this is what this one-shot is about. It again takes place at the end of the episode. Enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think, whether it be about my one-shot, or Tiva in general in this episode! :D

* * *

I ease the door shut behind me and wait a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the cool night. As I stand there, I feel the warmth of alcohol and bodies pressed close together in that tiny bar escape me.

I shouldn't look back, according to my Mossad training, but I can't help it and I do. Turning to face the glass door I crane my neck slightly to find Michael sitting at the counter. I feel a resolute smile form on my lips when I see he has unfolded the slip of paper with the number to reach Devon and watch as he flips open his cell phone and starts to dial.

Then I look quickly away. This is how I want to remember Michael. Happy ending – not as the man who was suspect of being a copycat serial killer. Instead I turn to face the person waiting for me.

"So," the person says. "How about we get those drinks?"

o-o-o

An hour earlier, I was sitting at my desk when I heard the elevator doors open behind me. I didn't need to look to know it was the rest of my missing team because I could hear Tony laughing and McGee groaning "Tony."

Gibbs arrives first, grabbing something off his desk before disappearing again. I wonder what he was so preoccupied with that he didn't bother to tell me for the hundredth time to go home.

I am still staring at the hallway he had disappeared down when Tony steps forward blocking my line of view. "Earth to Ziva?" he says in a tone surprisingly soft. For Tony, that is.

"What?" I try to keep my annoyance out of my voice. When Tony doesn't say anything I shift my eyes up to meet his…concerned?...gaze.

"Boss says I owe you an apology about 'Michael'," when Tony says his name his voice drips with acidic derision. "But I'm not going to apologize," he continues. "Because what if I was right? It's not like I suspected Michael to hurt your feelings because you like him. But because I really thought it was him and I didn't want him to hurt you. So I'm not going to apologize for that because if I had been right, you could be dead."

"Okay, Tony," I say, not exactly in the mood for arguing with him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he starts, but then holds up his hand. "Wait, let me rephrase. I know you're not okay. Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Tony, I…" I am about to dismiss his worries again but there is something about the concerned way he is watching me that seems strangely familiar. It comes to me less than a moment later as he continues to silently wait for my response.

It reminded me of the way I felt watching him before I knew about Jeanne, before I even knew he had a girlfriend, back when he lead me to believe that he was ill with his frequent phone calls and visits to the hospital. And it reminded me of the way I felt at the bar when I knew he was with Jeanne but deep in my gut, I had known something was wrong. And I had been right.

All I wanted then was for my partner to trust and confide in me, because I cared about him. I hated standing idly by when I knew there was something more I could do to help if he would have just let me in. Is that how he feels now, watching me with that same expression?

I knew that answer.

And I didn't want to put Tony through that same, hopeless torture I had felt.

"You're right. I'm not fine. But, I think you already know what's wrong," I say coyly.

"Okay," Tony says slowly, easing down onto my desk so he would be closer to eye level. "Do you want to talk about it?"

My breath hitches. I didn't want to shut him out, but, "No, I don't want to talk about it."

Tony doesn't say anything, but the concern is still woven deep in his face. "Then Ziva, what _can_ I do to help you?"

"I don't want to be alone," I admit simply, swallowing the lump of discomfort in my throat.

Tony smiles now, and I can't explain it, but for some reason I'm relieved to finally see him smile.

"I think I can manage that," he says. "Do you want to go get drinks like I offered the other night?"

I wait a moment, contemplating. But I already knew the answer. "Yes," I tell him, reaching into my desk for the slip of paper I had folded up and placed there earlier. "But we have to make one stop along the way."

o-o-o

"So, how about we get those drinks?" Tony says now, outside the bar, when he sees he has my attention again.

Tony had promised not to leave me alone, but he gave me my privacy, waiting outside the bar, while I went to get my closure, by giving Michael his closure. I had made a mistake, confiding in Michael. I'd fought hard with Tony, trusting that Michael was innocent, but all along I knew that what I felt more was _hope_ that Michael was innocent, rather than having true faith that he actually was. And yet I confided in a man I couldn't trust, rather than the man standing before me who I knew without a doubt, for some reason, I could trust with my life. And not only that, but there was really know one who understood what I was feeling better than Tony. And I don't think there ever will be.

I will always be there for Tony. And he will always be there for me. And that is – _he_ is – enough.

"Okay," I take a deep breath, smiling. "But, let's go to a different bar."


	4. Whatever That Is

**Author's Note:** Okay, this scene is from episode 7.18, "Jurisdiction," and its about Tony and Ziva (obviously) and the fact that they're watching a movie together at work on a Friday night. However, this scene is narrated from Gibbs POV as he and Vance watch them from upstairs. It's also pretty short, more of a drabble than anything. Still, I hope you like it!

* * *

"Working with Agent Borin and CGIS couldn't have been that bad, Gibbs," Vance subtly prods for information as we step out of his office.

"Okay, Leon," I agree, attempting to dismiss him. I walk over to the banister, the dull light of a TV in the darkness catching my attention. I shift my eyes to see Tony and Ziva sitting next to each other in front of one of the Squad Room television screens.

Vance joins me at the railing and silently we watch the two of them pass a bowl of popcorn back and forth. And although the screen is flashing before them, no doubt Tony was subjecting Ziva to one of his favorite movies, they seemed to be paying more attention to each other than to whatever was going on in front of them. I can't help the wry smile that forms on my lips when Tony tosses a piece of popcorn in Ziva's face. Or when Ziva responds by shoving her hand in his face and pushing him backwards in his rolling chair.

"Should we be concerned about those two?" Vance whispers now.

I don't say anything as Tony rolls his chair back up next to Ziva. He says something, attempting to look hurt, but Ziva simply laughs out right before focusing back on the movie. Tony watches her for a moment before doing the same.

"No," I say then, blatantly but firmly.

"They look awfully close, Gibbs," Vance states the obvious.

"Really?" I attempt to keep my voice down. "I couldn't tell."

"What's that rule you have about not dating a co-worker? Twelve? Or is it thirteen?" Vance pushes the issue forward. "This looks an awful lot like a date."

Vance's use of the work awful was starting to get on my nerve. "They're watching a movie," I state. "At _work_."

This time Vance says nothing, but he is clearly not convinced. Down below, Ziva turns to Tony. She looks confused as she says something to him. Whatever it is, he then proceeds to explain it, animatedly waving his hands through the air. Ziva nods, smiling, but she still looks confused.

"Look, Leon. Those two barely get along with each other as it is. But whatever _that_ is," I point to Tony and Ziva, "It enables them to work well together on my team. Their partnership is a valuable asset to NCIS."

"I agree," Vance says. Then he takes a breath and I can sense a 'but' coming, so I interrupt him as I turn toward the elevator.

"Good night, Leon," I hit the elevator door button.

For all their antics, I was far from surprised to find Tony and Ziva with each other on a Friday night. And I doubted there was anything else between them, and if there was, I was certain neither one of them had acted upon it.

Still, there was a reason I took the elevator rather than the stairs.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Ah, Gibbs. The silent TIva shipper at heart. ;) Although I'm not quite sure I have Gibbs voice down, this scene was supposed to be more about Tony and Ziva watching a movie and Gibbs reflection on their relationship and how they work together.


	5. High Five

**Author's Note:** All right, so this chapter consists of two scenes. The first scene is from Ziva's POV and takes place at the end of 7.23 "Patriot Down." The second scene is from Tony's POV and takes place towards the end of 7.24 "Rule Fifty-One." The scenes are related, which is why I put them in one chapter instead of two. Without giving too much away, it revolves around Ziva's American citizenship and how Tony misses her ceremony. During her ceremony, Ziva glances sadly down at Gibbs and Tony's empty seats, but the show fails to give any closure to this small, but significant plot, and that is what I intend to achieve in this chapter.

* * *

"Gibbs went to Mexico," Tony announces quietly when he enters the Squad Room after meeting with Director Vance.

I glance up from my civics test study guide. "What do you mean?"

Tony turns to face me, his expression solemn. I exchange a worried glance with McGee before Tony speaks. "For now, the director has nothing for us to do. But he said not to leave the office; to be on standby until he gets more information."

My mind was reeling. Gibbs in Mexico. Again. Surely he wasn't there for retirement. Not in the middle of a case this close to him. But that didn't mean he would be coming back either. Whatever waited for him in Mexico...it could only be trouble. Could we bring him back again? Somehow I doubted it.

"Ziva. Are you okay?" Tony pulls me from my thoughts.

"Of course," I assure him.

"We're all worries about him," McGee says from his desk. He doesn't have to say who 'him' is. We all know. And the three of us grow quiet.

Tony moves to sit at his desk. McGee looks back at his computer. I try to focus on my study guide. I have to stay focused, this test was important for my future.

A minute later Tony calls my name again. "What?" I ask, not bothering to hide my agitation. But Tony is unfazed.

"What are you doing?" he asks curiously.

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to determine his intentions. "Studying for my naturalization tests," I say slowly.

"Great! Let me test you," he immediately brightens.

I laugh. "I don't think so, Tony," I shake my head adamantly.

"Come on Ziva, I'm bored. And I don't play video games like McGamer over there to entertain myself," he points at McGee.

"And testing me for my civics exam will? Entertain you, that is?" I lean back in my seat and cross my arms.

Just as I'm leaning back, Tony leans forward. "It's better than nothing."

Something told me this could be a really bad idea. Tony was annoying as it was, but...this could be interesting as well.

"Fine," I tell him.

Not a beat later Tony was pointing at me, words flying out of his mouth. "Recite the preamble to the Constitution."

And already it was turning into the bad idea.

"Tony, I don't have to know the whole preamble. Just the first three words. 'We the people.'"

"That's ridiculous!" Tony exclaims. "They make this test way too easy," he shakes his head disdainfully.

"Like you know the preamble?" I accuse him. One question in and we were already arguing.

Tony meets my eyes and clears his throat. "'We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this constitution for the United States of America.'"

I couldn't believe it. I glance over at McGee, but he seems unfazed. I snap my head back over to Tony, but he's just grinning cockily. Then he answers my unspoken question.

"It's like, the one thing they make every government student memorize."

"You baited me into that," I accuse him.

Tony just shrugs. "So then what do they test you on?" he shifts the focus back to my test.

I hold up my study guide. "There is a civics test and an English test. I'm not too worried about my English. They don't test you on expressions," I explain. So I've been studying the civics portion, mostly."

"Let me see that," Tony wheels his chair over to my desk. Against my better judgement I hand him the guide. "Okay, let's see...What is one of your state's U.S. Senators now?"

"Oh, that one's tricky," I clasp my hands together. "Here in the District of Columbia there are no U.S. Senators."

"Nice job," Tony appraises. Then he holds out his hand for a high five.

"I don't think so, Tony," I refuse, politely. It just seemed childish.

"Why not?" he doesn't lower his hand. "It's called positive reinforcement. Every time you get a question right, you get a high five as reward."

"How is a high five from you a reward?" I counter.

"Come on, you know you want to," he moves his hand closer.

"If I do it will you stop annoying me?" I ask. Tony says nothing. He just keeps smiling that obnoxious smile and waving his hand around. Finally I bring my hand up and slap it against his. Hard.

Immediately his smile fades, just as mine starts to grow. When he sees me smiling his faded smile turns into a glare. "Okay. Next question," he rubs his hand. "Name one American Indian tribe in the United States."

And so it went. It took forever with Tony's unwelcome added commentary, but eventually we get through all one hundred questions. And each time I got the answer right he refused to move on until I gave him a high five.

"Well, Ziva David. You only got two wrong. I think you'll pass," Tony says assuredly.

"I hope so," I take my study guide back from them. "They'll ask me ten questions. I have to get six correct to pass."

"Piece of cake," McGee pipes in from over at his desk.

"You'll do great," Tony smiles at me.

"Thank you, you guys."

My team believed in me. I guess I could too.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"But Director, I'll miss Ziva's ceremony," I refute.

I knew something was up when he sent Ziva and McGee home to rest but held me back a minute more. And of course, it ended up being exactly what I thought it'd be.

"Will that be a problem, Agent DiNozzo?" Vance asks me now.

Yes. "No," I say. It's the answer Vance wants. The only answer there is.

"Good," he says, but he keeps his gaze steady on me a minute more. "Now, go home and get some sleep as well. You have a big day ahead of you."

o-o-o

As soon as the elevator doors open Friday afternoon, my attention immediately snaps to Ziva sitting at her desk. I knew I was going to have to talk to her eventually about this morning, but as of right now I had no idea what to say. But the fact that she was in the Squad Room alone with no sign of Gibbs or McGee meant that this was probably going to happen now whether I liked it or not.

Ziva does not look up from whatever she is doing. Not when I walk by her desk. Not even once I've sat down and say her name.

"Come on Ziva, talk to me," I resort to practically begging when the silence becomes too much.

Again Ziva ignores me. Just as I'm about to say something else she snaps her head up, her eyes filled with blazing anger. But behind that I can see that her eyes are shiny with unshed tears.

I was wrong. This was much worse then being ignored.

"Ziva," I start, using that tone someone uses when they know the other person is mad.

"There were two people I wanted at that ceremony more than anyone else," she interrupts me. Her voice is quiet and her words were clipped. But there was no mistaking the rage and sadness that also filled her voice and words. "You and Gibbs. And neither one of you showed."

Gibbs didn't go to her ceremony either? That was surprising. There were few reasons Gibbs would have to miss Ziva's ceremony. Shamefully I realize that orders from Vance probably wasn't one of them.

I'd have to think about that later because my lack of response was clearly making Ziva grow angrier. "Don't you have anything to say, Tony?"

"I'm so sorry, Ziva," the words come out of my mouth before I have time to think about what I'm saying. But I mean them more than anything.

Ziva laughs scornfully. "That's against the rules," she says quietly.

"Forget about Gibbs' rules, Ziva. I am sorry. I wanted to be there," I stand up and walk over to her desk.

"Then why weren't you?" she doesn't meet my eyes and her voice is empty now, having lost the will to fight this with me.

"Listen, Ziva. Please. It's a poor excuse. But it's all I have," I swallow. Ziva says nothing and continues to avoid looking at me. "I was following orders from Director Vance. I had...I had no choice."

Even as I say the words I can feel how petty and empty they are. I know they won't console Ziva either.

"Look," I say, getting an idea. "I can prove to you I planned on coming," I step back over to my desk. I move some filing boxes out of the way and pull out the bouquet of flowers I had hidden behind them. "I was going to give these to you at your ceremony," I hold them out to her.

Ziva still refuses to look at me, but she does look at the flowers. After a moment she even takes the from me. "Thank you," she says.

I can't tell though if she's forgiven me yet. I step behind her desk and kneel next to her so we are closer to eye level. "Ziva, believe me. I wanted to be there for you just as much as you wanted me to be there. You have to understand that. It's just that-"

"I know, Tony," Ziva finally looks at me. I'm relieved to see no traces of anger left. "I understand. You were taking orders from the man that I became a citizen to take orders from as well."

"And as for Gibbs," I start. "Well, he'll probably never tell us, but you've got to trust that his reason for not going was unavoidable."

"I suppose," Ziva says. She leans in to smell her flowers. "Thank you, Tony. They're beautiful."

"Hey," I say. Ziva looks back at me again. "Congratulations." I wait to gauge her reaction. When she smiles I lift my hand. "High five."

This time Ziva doesn't hesitate. She slaps her palm against mine. Then she leaves it there for a moment before curling her fingers through mine. I give her hand a quick squeeze before letting go.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So I've got a few season 8 one-shots planned, so those will be coming up soon. Anyways, let me know what you think. :)


	6. Relapse and Remedy

**Author's Note:**

This chapter is from season 8 episode 5, 'Dead Air', and was written by request of an anonymous reviewer. Quickly, I just wanted to thank that reviewer; I've never received a request before and it really made my day that someone wanted ME to write something!

So this episode is a really great one for Ziva, for Tony, and for Tiva. We see that Ziva actually enjoys baseball because it was something her father taught her. We see Tony lose his voice which is just downright hilarious. And for Tiva we see Tony try to grapple the two versions of Ziva and Ziva save Tony's life (which comes with the quick throwback to Tony's 'knee' from 'Under Covers'). So in other words, I had a lot of great things to chose from when writing this chapter, but I decided to start with Tony losing his voice since that is what my reviewer specifically mentioned in their request. From there I was able to work in a lot of the other great things from the episode, and of course it all revolves around Tiva. So to that reviewer and everyone else, please enjoy!

* * *

It's funny the way things come back to you. You know, how everyone says you can never forget how to ride a bike. How you can pick one up ten years later and it'll still be there. The ability to pedal, to balance, to steer, and to break.

That's how I feel now, playing a round of catch with none other then Gibbs. With Tony and McGee's incessant talk of baseball over the past few days, I had begun to wonder what it would be like to play again. And then out on that softball field with the set of gloves and the softball I knew that I at least had to try.

The wind up, the release, the follow through, it was all still second nature to me. And I couldn't help matching the smile on my boss's face when the softball landed hard and firmly in his glove.

That wasn't the only thing that came back to me. I'd admit that it was a bit unsettling how easy it had been to slip back into the person I had been five years prior. Even more disconcerting was the fact that she seemed to be so different than the person I was now. I found it hard to believe that I'd changed that much.

I am pulled from my thoughts by the sound of Tony's raspy, squeaky voice coming from right beside me.

"You really are American now," he says, and the surprise in his voice is not lost in its rasp.

"I am not sure about that Tony," I start. Then I focus my attention back on Gibbs as he releases the ball. I catch it. "This is something my father taught me. In Israel."

I throw the ball then look back at Tony's confused expression. He makes a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. I can't tell if he's just trying to clear it or if he's trying to say something.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs says and we both look to find him standing right beside us. I hadn't even seen him approach. "Here," he hands him the glove. "My arm is tired," he adds, but he says it in that way so we know he is lying and is just giving us what we want. And right now for Tony, that's to play catch.

"Baseball doesn't require talking," Tony says, eagerly taking the glove and jogging down the field.

Gibbs squeezes my shoulder before heading off in McGee's direction.

"You ready, David?" Tony's hoarse voice carries over to me in the wind.

I hold up my gloved hand in response and watch as Tony proceeds to throw the ball. I watch as it falls effortlessly into my glove. I return the throw and we continue this back and forth silently for a couple of moments. Then, despite his comment about baseball not requiring talking, Tony speaks up.

"Thanks for saving me," he attempts to say, but it sounds more like 'hank er ave guh muh'.

I don't say anything at first. It was odd, I was Tony's partner, we were supposed to have each other's back. He knew that, so there must've been a reason he'd suffer through his laryngitis to tell me that. After another moment I suspect I knew the reason.

"And you do not think the new Ziva would have done the same thing?" I ask, referring to his comment before about 'missing the old Ziva' after I'd thrown him to the ground to save him from the blast. I'd let it go at the time, but I was beginning to wonder what exactly that had meant.

Apparently he had realized this too. And despite the apologetic look I could see on his face, even from this distance, I push forward. "And yet earlier, you made a comment about hoping I would not entirely relapse," I enunciate the last word slowly.

This type of thing didn't typically bother me. I was independent and confident in who I was. But I knew that I was changing too. While I am still impulsive, I no longer act before I think like I once used to. But that didn't mean for one second that I would ever have to think before saving my partner's life.

Perhaps that's what was bothering me. I did not need validation from Tony on who I was. But I wanted him to understand that I was still me, no matter what my job title or citizenship status said.

"I'm sorry Ziva," Tony says suddenly. He throws the ball to me one last time, then walks back up the field. Once he's standing right next to me he speaks again. He can whisper now, but he still winces slightly when he speaks. "The Ziva you were five years ago is the same Ziva you are now. The same Ziva we will always know and love."

"I know who I am," I say fiercely. I spin on my heel and start heading in the direction of our car. "Do you?"

"Yes," Tony says immediately. But nothing comes after that.

We reach the car and I unlock it before reaching into the backseat to pull out my backpack. It's not until I look back at Tony that he speaks again.

"You're my partner," he whispers.

We watch each other for a moment. Then I nod, acknowledging and accepting his words and his apology.

"Here," I pull a bottle out of my bag. "Take this."

Tony takes the bottle but doesn't break eye contact. "What is it?" he asks suspiciously.

"It is a herbal remedy my mother used to make for me and my siblings when we were little. It helped us when we had sore throats. You should start with one big sip," I gesture to the bottle encouragingly.

Tony unscrews the cap, and takes one giant gulp. I can tell when the burn hits his throat by the way his eyes bulge and he falls into a coughing fit.

"What the hell is that stuff?" he asks, face bright red. He holds up the bottle, shrewdly inspecting it. I say nothing as realization hits his face. "Hey! My voice is back," he announces, his free hand flying to his throat.

"Not entirely," I say, noting the way his voice still cracks quite a bit. But the volume was certainly back. "Just take a sip once a day for the next couple of days and your voice will be back in no time."

"Huh," he says. Now he looks at the bottle appraisingly. But a second later his focus shifts to the backpack still in my hands. "Wait, you've had this all along and you're only giving it to me just now?" he accuses.

"Can you blame me?" I chuckle. I toss my backpack back in the car and then slide into the driver's seat. Tony falls into that passenger seat a moment later.

"How could you? You - you let me suffer through the cough and the pain, the laryngitis. And worse, oh, you probably got a good chuckle watching that video of my embarrassment as I failed to interrogate Deeter. I've got to say David, this might actually be a trick from my playbook. So I'm not sure if I should congratulate you or being angry that you used my own tactic on me. Well, but I don't think I've pulled a devious trick quite like this. But still-"

"Tony!" I shout, gripping the steering wheel with one hand while using the other to throw the car into drive.

"What?" he asks.

"Shut up!"

So he does. But the triumphant grin on his face was just as bad.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Well, there you have it. I hope you all liked it, especially for my reviewer who requested it. This was actually very fun to write. This was a great Tiva episode that I had originally planned on writing nothing for. But this episode had a lot of great material and I really hope you liked what I did with it!

I also want to give another shout out to another reviewer who takes the time to come read and review each chapter, Sue Dooley. Tiva forever!


	7. Remember What I Said

**Author's Note:** Okay, I apologize that this piece took so long. I knew I wanted to do a chapter that revolves around the fact that both Tony and Ziva get unexpected visits from their fathers in back to back episodes during season 8, I just had trouble figuring out where I wanted to go with it. So I settled on this. It's another fairly short chapter, but I decided there wasn't much more that needed to be done other than Tony and Ziva letting each other know that they understand what the other is going through, and of course, they will always be there for one another. So the first part takes place during episode 8.7, 'Broken Arrow,' and the second part takes place between episodes 8.8 and 8.9 'Enemies Foreign' and 'Enemies Domestic', respectfully. Then a little more during 'Enemies Domestic'. The whole piece is narrated from Ziva's POV.

* * *

"This is worse than I thought. My father...at a bus station?" We all watch as Tony nervously grabs his things and heads for the elevator.

"Ziver," Gibbs says. I turn around and face him expectantly. He nods his head in Tony's direction. He was telling me to go with him, but he was also telling me to keep an eye on him.

I was glad he chose me.

"On it," I nod. Then I quickly grab my jacket and gun and race to the elevator before it closes.

"Tony, wait," I start, but when I arrive at the elevator door, it's being held open by him, an expectant look on his face.

"What took you so long?" he asks quietly.

I step into the elevator. "I am here now," I say.

o-o-o

"Tony," I say warningly, gripping the door handle, surprised to find my knuckles have turned white. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you ask?" he says bitterly as he takes a sharp turn.

"Well, seeing as how you're driving the way I do, I figured something might be on your mind," I lean forward in attempt to get a better view of his face. "Like your father. You're worried about him," I say. I don't say it as a question either. I can tell he's worried.

Tony does not refute my statement, which further confirms this truth. But the look on Tony's face is tortured. It's like he's about to buckle under the weight of everything that his father has put him through in the past few hours. It wasn't fair.

I grip the dashboard this time as Tony takes a left. I look out the window and see the bus station in the distance. If I didn't get him to talk now, I never would. And if I never got him to talk, I might lose him for good.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I say simply, but I keep my voice quiet lest I scare him off.

Much to my surprise, Tony immediately begins to speak. "I love my father Ziva," he says, looking at me pointedly as he pulls to the side of the road to park. "But I don't always like him."

If I hadn't known any better, I would have started feeding Tony the expected condolences. _Your father loves you and he never meant to cause you any harm._ But I knew that even if these words were true, it wouldn't make any difference to Tony, nor would it change what we might find in that bus station.

There was only one thing I could tell Tony. One truth that would always remain and that might ever make a difference.

"I understand," I say softly. I rest my hand on his shoulder. "You'll always have us," I say referring to our tight-knit team at NCIS. I remove my hand. "You'll always have me," I add, specifically. "And I know what it's like to have a father who, who...doesn't get it."

Tony is looking at me now. "But I get it," I finish.

"I know," Tony turns his gaze to the train station. "Let's do this."

We step out of the car and cross the street. We surveillance the front entrance before wordlessly moving inside. There we navigate to the ticket windows while keeping our eyes on alert for any signs of Tony's father or other suspicious activity.

Tony flashes his badge and introduces us as NCIS. While he works on the man behind the ticket window, I continue my surveillance of the crowded bus station. It would be hard to find Tony's father in the middle of all of this, I realize, and I feel my heart sink a little bit.

Tony grabs my arm from behind and begins to pull me in the opposite direction. "He's catching a bus back to New York. It leaves in ten minutes."

I nod, following Tony through the crowd toward the departures terminal. The crowd is thick, I realize, because a group of arrivals have started pouring into the station. But Tony and I are both well trained in moving through crowds, and before we know it we are standing outside next to an exhaust-riddled bus and there stands Tony's father at the back of the line.

"There he is, Tony," I sigh, relieved. "Thank God he's all right."

"Give me a second," Tony says and I hold back as he continues toward his father.

Still, I see the ways his body relaxes as he calls after his him.

Then, as we arrive back at the car and Tony shuts his father in the back seat, he leans into me and whispers in me ear. "Thank you, Ziva," is all he says.

He doesn't say for what. And I don't ask. "Mmhmm," I murmur quietly, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. Then I move to the passenger side and Tony drives us back to NCIS.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"You okay?" Tony asks me as soon as Gibbs and I enter the conference room after him.

"Fine," I clip. All that mattered was that my father was safe now.

Or maybe not.

"Hadar, come in..." Gibbs says. This was the second time he tried to reach them with no success.

"They should be back at the safe house by now," I say, my panic rising.

"Hadar, acknowledge..." Gibbs continues.

This could not be happening. Tony and I had just killed the last remaining suspect.

"Leon? Are you there?"

Tony looks at me again, the worry on his face obvious. I wanted to tell him not to look at me that way. Not to look at me like there was something wrong. I needed someone to believe for me that everything was okay. I needed it to be Tony.

"Anyone?" Gibbs says, the tension in his voice thickening.

"Eli?" he tries, glancing nervously at me in the process.

"What's happened?" I speak up, the silence on the other end was deafening.

"Somebody report," Gibbs demands into his microphone as he points to Tony and nods at me.

Before I know it Tony is gingerly guiding me into the hallway by the elbow. There, he turns around to face me and grabs my shoulders firmly.

"I'm going to ask you again," he whispers. "Are you okay?"

"No," I admit, my voice trembling. "Tony..." I start, but my voice fades as I feel my throat constrict.

"I know, Ziva," he says.

I open my mouth to say something and before I know what to say, I'm talking. "Remember what you told me about your father just last week, Tony?" I search his eyes to see if he remembers. "You said you love your father, but you don't always like him."

"You feel the same way about your father," he nods. It's not a question. He understands.

"But I do not want him dead!" I burst.

"Ziva," Tony says tersely. "Ziva," he shakes my shoulders softly when I don't look at him. "I know that."

I flick my eyes up to him once to see the truth behind his words reflected in his eyes. Then I look back down. "Okay," I murmur.

"Okay," Tony echoes.

o-o-o

"You're not going to the House of Pancakes, are you?" Tony calls after me as I struggle to catch up with Liat.

I don't turn around to acknowledge Tony's comment until I hear his voice right behind me. "Ziva, where _are_ you going?"

I whip around to face Tony, causing him to stumble into me. I take a step back, reaching for his arm to keep him from falling. I glance behind me to make sure Liat wasn't getting too far away, but not too close that she could hear what I was about to tell Tony. We're still hidden in the alley, but I whisper the words nonetheless.

"Liat knows where my father is. I'm going to follow her and find out why she didn't tell me," I explain.

"And what do you want me to do?" Tony asks, on board immediately.

I hesitate. Did I want to involve anyone else? But immediately I realize that Tony was already involved. And I was glad it was him. If anyone were to understand what I was doing about my father and why, it was Tony.

"Come with me?" I ask hesitantly.

To combat my uncertainty, Tony nods his head confidently. "I've got your back Ziva."

"I know, Tony. More than my father ever did," I look him in the eyes. "And more than anyone else ever will."

"Let's go," Tony starts toward the street where the car is parked on the side of the road.

I take the wheel and Tony wordlessly hops in next to me. "Thank you, Tony."

"Just returning the favor," he winks and I almost laugh.

Because if it were anyone else, they would be 'just returning the favor'. But this was Tony. And this meant so much more.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Well that was the best I could come up with. I'm not too too happy with it though. I feel like it's too heavily dialogue based and doesn't really go anywhere, but I really wanted to write a piece about their fathers. I just had trouble finding inspiration for what that piece would actually be. I hope you all liked it though, I know many people agree with me that something more needed to be done between these two during this series of three episodes involving their fathers, as far as there being there for each other, so I hope you all found this satiated that need. (Also, one quick note: although we don't see Tony at the synagogue, I'd like to think he goes with Ziva there. He kind of disappears until we see him arrive back at the squad room with McGee after Ziva has arrived back with her father. So it fits into the timeline, even though it was probably not the show's intention.)


	8. Escape is Futile

**Author's Note:** All right, this one-shot is from season 8, episode 16, "Kill Screen". If you remember the episode, then it's a pretty safe bet that you know what this chapter will be about. Ziva's POV.

* * *

There is a deafening echo as two doors fall closed on either side of us, effectively blocking the path ahead of us. I shine my flashlight across the door in front of me. Metal, so there was no way to kick it down. And thick, I could tell, by the dense sound it made as the bottom collided with the concrete floor. It was probably a fire door of sorts, which meant that while we might be safe from a fire, it could be a long time before we got out of here.

"Well, it looks like we're stuck in here," Tony says, thereby verbally echoing my thoughts and obnoxiously stating the painfully obvious truth. Emphasis on the 'painfully'.

"Oh, no no no no no. This _cannot_ be happening. I cannot be stuck in here with you," the words rush out of my mouth as I realize the reality of this situation.

There is enough light from our flashlights that I can see the white of Tony's teeth as he smiles in response, adding just enough annoyance to our situation that I elicit a guttural groan from my throat. I pull out my cell phone, praying for reception in the small box.

"No reception," I announce. "And my battery is about to die," I discover unhappily.

"Well," Tony starts, but when he says nothing else, it becomes clear that he has come to the same conclusion that I have: escape is futile.

Just then, a hollow _Boom!_ resonates in our small prison chamber. For the next minute, my ears ring from the echoing sound.

When I speak, my voice sounds both quiet and small. "Gibbs."

"I know," Tony's voice sounds far away, despite the fact that he stands a mere foot away from me.

"We should be out there with him, helping him," I exclaim and I feel my throat constrict. I unleash a string of expletives in Hebrew.

I begin to bang on the wall that blocked us from Gibbs. I had never been claustrophobic, but then I suppose if anything were to instill that fear in me, it would be being trapped in a box with Tony.

Tony rests his hand on my shoulder. He doesn't need to pull me away from the wall because that simple gesture, the warmth of his palm over my arm, is enough to at least temporarily quell my nerves.

"Of course we're supposed to be out there with him," Tony says softly. "But we're not. We're trapped in here and no amount of door banging or curse words is going to change that."

It was odd, Tony being the voice of reason. But of course, he was right. Not that I'd ever tell him that. Instead, I sigh and slide down the adjacent wall - the one that wasn't a trap door - into a sitting position. A moment later, Tony joins me.

After a few minutes of silence, surprising for Tony, I pull out my cell phone to find that we still had no reception and now my battery was at two percent.

"Well, this is dismal," Tony observes.

"Tony," I say, a hint of a warning in my voice, which he ignores.

"Hey, I know!" He immediately sounds cheerful, like a kid on Christmas morning. "Let's play a game. Let's see..." he pauses. "Can't play 'I Spy' because we can't see anything. How about charades?"

"What is charades?" I ask, confused.

"Yeah, that probably won't work. You don't know enough about American pop culture," Tony mutters.

I'm too mentally exhausted to be offended.

"20 Questions?"

"I don't know that one either, Tony," I don't bother hiding my annoyance.

"This one's easy. Okay. You think of something and I can ask you twenty yes or no questions about it. Then I have to guess what it is."

This game sounded pretty annoying actually. But we could be stuck in here for hours, so at least it would occupy my time. "Fine."

Tony claps his hands once and rubs them back and forth excitedly. "Okay, you ready?" he asks.

"Yes," I deadpan. "Question two."

"Wait, no Ziva. You don't understand. That wasn't -"

"Question two," I repeat.

"Fine," Tony clips. "Is it an object?"

"No."

"A place?"

"No."

"A person?"

"Yes."

"Ah, very interesting," Tony shifts next to me.

I can't help but smile to myself at how much Tony was enjoying this. He could be annoying, but sometimes his eager and silly attitude could be refreshing.

"Okay, question five," I announce, lightening my tone from before.

"Male?" He jumps back in.

"Yes."

"Is it someone you know personally?"

"Yes," I nod.

"Is it someone I know personally?"

 _I should hope so_ , I think. "Yes," I verbalize.

"Is he handsome?" Tony asks.

I hesitate. How did I want to approach this? "Yes," I eventually stammer.

"Is he charming?"

I don't hesitate this time. "Yes."

And so this ridiculous game continues. Eventually Tony begins to ask the obvious questions like, _Does he love movies?_ and _Does he work at NCIS?_

Then, after getting through twenty questions, Tony immediately says "It's me," as though it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Correct," I nod, smiling a little.

"Why Ziva David, does this mean you find me handsome and charming?" he turns on the wit.

"No," I chuckle. "I think _you_ think you're charming and handsome."

"Huh," Tony grunts. "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to take that."

"Okay enough, Tony," I laugh and give his arm a playful shove. "Now it's your turn."

And so it went, for the next three long hours, Tony and I played countless rounds of 20 Questions, even when the fireman arrived and the sounds of sawing, hammering and drilling drowned out or questions and laughter.

Once we are free and step out into the welcoming sunlight, I realize that my cheeks hurt from smiling. Smiling while trapped in a box with Tony. Go figure.

I glance over at Tony and see that he is smiling too. I decide to throw him a bone.

"You know, that was actually kind of fun," I say, and I watch his reaction carefully. "For a game I'll probably never play again."

"Never say never, Ziva," Tony glances over at me. "Who knows when you'll find yourself trapped again with yours truly?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Notice the allusion to the season 10 opener, lol? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it!


	9. Morning Ritual

**Author's Note:** So in season 8 episode 21 "Dead Reflection" we get a brief glimpse of Tony and Ziva almost having breakfast together in the break room (if you can call it that, it's more like a break _alcove_ ) until EJ interrupts and Ziva gets up and leaves. But in that brief scene, it seemed like Tony and Ziva were practicing a routine, one they might practice quite often. Ziva gets the coffee, Tony prepares the croissant, etc. So I started thinking, what if breakfast in the break room was a typical occurance for Tony and Ziva? Obviously it couldn't be everyday, since most episodes start with the team arriving and then in comes Gibbs telling them to grab their gear. But perhaps on the days where they don't have to go to a crime scene or pick up a witness, Tony and Ziva make it a thing to share breakfast together. Rolling with this idea, I decided to depict both Ziva's and Tony's thoughts when EJ shows up and disrupts their morning ritual. The chapter begins in Ziva's POV and ends with a small part in Tony's POV. So without further ado...please enjoy!

* * *

I was starving.

I glance at my watch to find that it was already going on ten o'clock, the time in which I usually met Tony in the break room to split breakfast. And while Tony wasn't at his desk, I was also acutely aware of the fact that EJ was not at her desk either.

So although I may be starving, it was better than going to the break room and either finding no one there because Tony had better things to do with EJ, or finding Tony there with EJ taking my place.

I was surprised to find myself so concerned about our breakfast ritual. But Tony was my partner. EJ could date him for all I cared. All I wanted was breakfast with my partner. Those breakfasts were our way to reenergize together and Tony is immensely more tolerable when he's stuffing his face with food rather than talking.

My stomach growls then, and with only McGee and me in the squad room, the sound seems to echo off the walls.

"Um, Ziva?" McGee looks up from his monitor. "You know there's breakfast food in the break room, right? Maybe you should go eat something."

"You know what? I will," I say resolutely, pushing up from my chair with such force it rolls into the wall behind me, somewhat startling McGee in the process. "Would you like anything, Tim?"

"No, I'm good," he watches me closely, having picked up on my odd behavior.

But McGee was right. I was hungry, so I should eat. I should not let Tony's whereabouts change that. And anyways, if I found him there with EJ, I'd lose my appetite and at least then I wouldn't be hungry.

I walk away from the squad room, propelling my feet forward towards the break room. I don't relax until I round the corner and find Tony by the breakfast counter alone.

He turns around when he hears me approach. "There you are. What took you so long?"

I feel my face relax into a smile. At least we still had our breakfasts. "I will get the coffee," I ignore his question.

"Today's breakfast selection includes crescents," Tony says cheerily.

I stop what I'm doing to look at him. "Croissants, Tony," I correct. A strange noise comes out of Tony's throat and he fixes a disconcerted gaze on me. "What?" I chuckle.

"It's just...you're correcting my language," he speculates. "It's unsettling."

"Cute," I seethe, good-naturedly. But Tony just smiles and I find myself responding in kind with a grin of my own before turning back to the coffee machine.

Behind me I hear Tony pop the croissant in the microwave and I grab two paper cups and pour in the coffee. I'm just finishing preparing them - one sugar and lots of cream for me, two sugars and just a touch of cream for Tony - when I hear the microwave beep.

A moment later I join Tony at one of the tables and slide his coffee towards him. "You and Gibbs talk?" I ask as he begins to cut the croissant in half.

I don't have to clarify; Tony knows exactly what I'm talking about. So Tony begins to tell me how it was like talking to his father and how it made him want to do it - break rule 12, date EJ - even more.

"Gibbs and I have hit a rough patch," he concludes.

And I'm watching his face so closely that I know she's here by the way his gaze shifts behind me before I even hear her footsteps.

When I turn, it's to find EJ walking into the break room behind me. Of course, I think, rolling me eyes.

"Well you're going to have to make some choices," I tell Tony and begin to rise from my chair. When I look at him again I have his full attention. But I was already leaving and I could tell EJ was just itching to take my chair. So I leave it with one last, vague comment. "Glad I'm not you."

But before I leave, I grab my coffee and my half of the croissant. No way was EJ taking my breakfast too.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I watch Ziva leave, words failing me. In the corner of my eye, I can see EJ watching her too.

But then EJ joins me, taking Ziva's chair and all I can think about is the fact that EJ has stolen my breakfast. And before I know it, we've circled back to the issue with Gibbs.

"You're scared of him," EJ says, but it's not a question.

I think she expects me to deny this, but I don't. "Yup," I give her a tight-lipped smile.

"I'm not," she says with such confidence that I almost roll my eyes. Instead I just watch her as she pops another piece of my breakfast in her mouth.

"You should be," I watch her closely.

The thing was, I really liked EJ. But she either didn't get it or got it and just didn't care. Either way, if she didn't stop blatantly breaking Gibbs's - _my boss'_ \- rules, things could get ugly.

"EJ," I plead.

"Okay fine, Tony," she concedes. "We'll cool it off in the office. But you better turn the heat way up outside of it. You hear me?"

I can't help but return her smile. "Loud and clear."

I thought I was going to feel better. I had finally gotten through to EJ. But all day I felt this unsettling pit in my stomach. Because the truth was, I was hungry. Ziva was ignoring me. And I wanted our morning ritual back.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I always found that while Tony really did like EJ, there was also a part of him that could be really annoyed by her, especially when she did something to defy Gibbs. Tony tells Ziva that he understands EJ, but I think the problem with their relationship was that EJ didn't understand Tony. Especially when there was someone else ( _*cough cough*_ Ziva _*cough*_ ) who did.


	10. Anchor

**Author's Note:** All right, so in season 9 episode 12, "Housekeeping," Tony tells EJ that he and Ziva are going to get drinks later if she wants to join them. EJ refuses and then later on Ray finally calls Ziva. So with Ray suddenly back in Ziva's life like that, would she and Tony still go to get drinks? Of course! But I can see Tony wondering if Ziva wouldn't want to go get drinks with him anymore. This leads to this one-shot, in which most of the dialogue actually comes straight from the episode right before Ray calls Ziva. This one-shot serves more to delve into Ziva's head as she carries out that conversation with Tony and then at the end reconfirms that they are still going to get drinks. Ziva's POV.

* * *

"You know," Tony says, and when I glance up he has stood up from his chair and is walking over to my desk. I quickly avert my gaze back down to my cell phone. "You and I, we have a lot in common in that respect," he sits on my desk.

I chuckle. "You think?" I ask, not quite sure I understood what Tony meant by that, but definitely curious to find out.

"I don't think," he smiles, just barely. "I know."

 _Tony's being serious_ , I realize. But for some reason, that made me uncomfortable. Maybe it was his proximity; his face was so close that I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his irises as he held my gaze with such quiet intensity. Or maybe it was just the fact that Tony always seemed to have the right answer to my problems. Even if the answer was that there was _no answer_.

"Well, then I am, uh…" I have to tear my gaze away from him. _It's his eyes_ , I realize. It was like he could see right through me. I grasp for the right words. "Grateful," I decide. "To have someone in my life who is just as…romantically dysfunctional as I am."

I can't keep the soft laugh that escapes from my lips or the smile that follows right after. Because it has occurred to me that this is what Tony was telling me. Tony was telling me that we were both bumbling fools when it came to matters of the heart. Of all the things to have in common with Tony, it had to be this?

"Agent David, do you really consider me to be _in your life_?" Tony asks.

All thoughts of romantic dysfunctionality are forgotten when I hear how…hopeful and sincerely happy Tony is when he realizes that he is a part of my life. It sobers me immediately, erasing the smile off my face at the truth of Tony's words. Because I suddenly could not recall a single time in my life when someone was simply appreciative of and happy to be a part of my life and I feel tears begin to well up in my eyes at how nice that felt.

My tears immediately dry up when we are interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing. My heart jumps into my throat as the sound startles the both of us out of…whatever that was, and I use the ringing as an excuse to look away from Tony to pick up my phone.

But when Ray's name and number show up on the screen, suddenly I don't feel as ready to hear from him as I once was. I close my eyes in frustration.

"No," I hear Tony's disbelieving voice.

"Yes," I whisper, averting his eyes.

"Seriously?"

"I mean, what should I say?" I ask him. Because all of a sudden, I wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"Say hello," is Tony's response. And once again he has the answer for me.

"Huh," I think. "Okay," I decide. "Excuse me," I tell him, but Tony doesn't move from his place at my desk and I am forced to slide by him, once more meeting his suddenly unreadable gaze.

I make my way over to the window, keeping my back to Tony. I didn't necessarily want him overhearing my conversation with Ray, but at the same time, he was my anchor and I did not want him to get too far away.

"Hello?" I answer my phone. "Ray?"

"Ziva, my dear. Are you busy? Can you talk?" comes Ray's response.

I bite my lip. Could I talk? Yes, technically. But I had Tony waiting for me and I would not do to him as Ray had done to me.

"Um, no. Yeah I can talk," I decide. "But not for too long."

"Ziva," Ray pleads. "I am so very sorry for everything. But…if you're willing, I'd love to meet. I'll explain everything. I promise."

"Um, okay," I stammer.

"How about lunch tomorrow?" Ray pushes.

"Uh," I fumble. I didn't think I was ready to see Ray yet. But…I was so tired of waiting for answers too. "Sure."

"Great!" I can hear the relief in his voice. "I'll text you the address."

"Okay. Bye Ray," I was already exhausted from this conversation.

"Good night Ziva," I hear him saying as I pull the phone away from my ear.

I hang up and lock my phone. I stare at my reflection against the black screen for a good ten seconds before I can build up the courage to turn around to face Tony again.

"Ready for those drinks?" I give Tony a tight-lipped smile as I walk back over to my desk to grab my coat.

Tony finally stands up from my desk. "Wait, you still want to get drinks?" he asks, surprised.

Now it's my turn to be surprised as I turn around to face him. He has stood up from my desk, but he still stands behind it with me and I find that we stand very close together once again. So close that I can practically feel the heat radiating off of his body.

"Tony," I attempt to explain as I struggle to pull on my coat in this tight space. "I am not one of those people who will just forget about and ignore the other people _in her life_ ," I emphasize this last part as I hold his gaze steady. "Just because she is dating someone."

"Well good," Tony nods, finally stepping way from behind my desk to go grab his coat. "Because I really need that drink right about now."

I tilt my head at him, confused. What exactly was Tony trying to say? What was he possibly admitting to? I wasn't sure, but knew that whatever it was, I could admit to it as well.

"Me too," I murmur. And together we head for the elevator.


	11. Trust

**Author's Note:** This one-shot is from season 9 episode 20, "The Missionary Position." When I was watching this episode, I could not help but feel for Ziva. So many people she has trusted betrayed her, and now she has to add Monique, someone she looked up to as a sister practically, to that list. Of course, I think Tony must have thought about this too, and so that is what this piece is about: Tony talks to Ziva about trust and how she feels about everything that just happened. It takes place at the end of the episode on their flight back to the U.S. from Columbia. Tony's POV.

* * *

I suspected we would all find it easy to catch some sleep on the flight back from Columbia considering the explosive past couple of days we'd just endured. So as soon as I take my seat I reach into my bag and pull out a blanket to get settled in. Sitting across from me, Chaplain Wade's and Castro's eyes were already looking heavy.

Ziva jumps into the plane then, wordlessly taking a seat beside me. I don't push her on anything; if Ziva wanted to talk, she'd talk. I offer to share the blanket, it often got cold on these military flights. But Ziva just pushes my hand away fervently but politely. I take the hint and give her some time to think.

While I was right about sleep as far as Wade and Castro were concerned, both women were out cold before the plane had reached its maximum altitude, Ziva on the other hand was wide awake, staring straight ahead lost in thought.

I wait until I'm sure both of the other women are asleep before I say anything, and when I do, it's just Ziva's name. I can tell she's ready to talk because she turns toward me just slightly.

"What's wrong?" I'm upfront with her. I had learned how to talk to Ziva a long time ago. Being straight up with her was the way to go, otherwise you might lose her attention…or you might just piss her off.

To my surprise, Ziva doesn't give her signature _Nothing_ response, or _I'm fine_. Instead she expels a heavy sigh and then begins to speak.

"It's just…" she immediately pauses. She's facing me now, but looking down, not making eye contact. "It's just that so many people I have trusted have betrayed me. Ari, my father, Michael, Ray. And now Monique," she says sadly. Then she does look up at me. "My heart, it just…hurts," she shakes her head. "I do not know how much more betrayal I can take."

At first I'm not sure what to say. I can't tell her that it's okay. Ziva has been betrayed so many times it would be heinous to act like it was no big deal. It was a big deal, and of all people, it shouldn't have to be Ziva. But then something occurs to me.

"Do you trust me?" I ask her.

Ziva meets my eyes again. "Of course," she says firmly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"You know that I'll never break your trust, right?" I need her to know. "I'd be stupid to. Because I know that having your trust is something hard earned and valuable."

A small smile begins to creep in the corner of her mouth. "I know Tony," she whispers. "That's the one thing I am sure of. Because if you betrayed my trust," Ziva shakes her head and looks away from me. "Forget about hurting my heart. That would surely break it."

I feel a hollow ache open in my chest as my eyes burn red with anger at all the wrong and injustice this world has made this woman suffer. If I never betrayed Ziva's trust that still wouldn't be enough to make up for all the wrong that has been done to her.

I know there is nothing this time I can say to console her. The only thing left I can do is just be there for her. So I reach my hand around and rest it on her shoulder. Ziva glances up at me and then leans her head on my shoulder.

"Get some rest Ziva," I murmur into her hair.

When Ziva closes her eyes a moment later, it hits me. Ziva really does trust me. And that is a gift. And I will treasure it dearly.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Not a very long one, but I felt that all that needed to be said was said as an important Tiva moment.


	12. Out of Necessity

**Author's Note:** In season 9 episode 22, "Playing with Fire," Gibbs sends Tony and Ziva to Italy for their case. When watching this I started to think about how much Tony and Ziva travel together (for work related cases, obviously) during season 9. So the idea popped in my head that they must know each other's flying habits and attitudes so well that they kind of became meshed together into a joint habit. This piece takes place on their military flight to Italy and is in Ziva's POV. Please note that this chapter is not heavily plot or dialogue based, but takes place mostly in Ziva's head and focuses on her thoughts about hers and Tony's joint routine, so to speak. Please enjoy!

* * *

There were two things both Tony and I could not stand about flying, especially military flights. One, we both suffered from having our ears popped with the drastic change in altitude, and two, we both tended to freeze on these kinds of flights.

That's how the routine began. When it became evident that Tony could never remember to bring himself a stick of gum to help with the ear popping, it became my job to bring the gum. And since I never seemed to think that it was resourceful to bring along a blanket, Tony took that responsibility upon himself.

Today we were catching a flight to Naples, Italy to meet with Agent Burley to board the Benjamin Franklin. But before we could even think about what lay ahead of us in Italy, we had to get through this flight first.

"Gum," I hold out a stick to Tony as the plane begins to roll down the tarmac. He takes it and pops it into his mouth. Then he reaches into his bag and begins to pull out the blanket.

The other thing about sharing a blanket, other than my lack of regard for its importance, was that it was simply out of necessity. Gibbs tended to give us sharp glares on flights when he'd see Tony tuck one corner of the blanket around himself and hand the other corner to me. But both Tony and I knew it was more efficient to pack and share one blanket than for us each to pack our own.

And I'd never tell Gibbs this, and certainly not Tony, but I also didn't mind sharing a blanket with him on these flights. Yes, his body heat added to the warmth provided by the blanket, but there was also the intimacy of it. Being next to Tony like that always made me feel comfortable and safe, even when we were headed into enemy territory.

Now as Tony hands me my corner as we feel the plane lifting up into the sky, I gratefully scoot closer to him. We may not be headed into a war zone, but I could use the comfort nonetheless. And something told me Tony felt that way too.

"We should probably try to get some sleep," Tony says once we're well on our way to reaching maximum altitude. "We're going to have to get to work as soon as we land and we need to be at our sharpest."

This was Tony's way of telling me I could lean on his shoulder. Typically on these long flights, having a pillow would be ideal, but again there was that whole packing lightly thing. So Tony and I found it to be easier to use each other as pillows. When we needed to sleep, I'd lean my head on his shoulder and he would rest his cheek on top of my hair. It was smarter than packing pillows and immensely more comfortable than trying to sleep with our heads upright during a turbulent flight.

And although Gibbs's scowl would deepen when he'd see this, he would say nothing because he knew that it was out of necessity. Nothing more.

Gibbs isn't with us right now though, so I willingly lean my head down on Tony. When I feel the warmth of his cheek a moment later, I flutter my eyes closed, eager to catch some sleep before we landed.

For some reason though, my mind is awake and alert and decides to wander. I begin to think about how far Tony and I have come since the first time I had embarrassingly, and accidentally, fallen asleep on his shoulder during my first year at NCIS when I was still the liaison Mossad officer.

Thinking about that now I can't help but smile slightly. Tony had teased me endlessly about that, starting when I had arrived at his apartment to give him his piano lessons the next day. Now, more than six years later he was actually telling me to sleep on his shoulder.

My mind decides to wander further, much to my dismay. With the brief memory resurfacing about Tony teasing me during our first piano lessons, I am unable to help but begin to think about those times again in which I'd teach Tony how to play piano. We'd only met for lessons a few times after that because Tony was able to pick it up again very quickly.

It was too bad, because I had really enjoyed those times with him. There had needed to be no explanation for our being together other than the simple fact that Tony had a piano and I could teach him to remember how to play it.

It was easier than those nights at his apartment when I was there to have dinner with him or watch a movie. Then it had to be made explicitly clear that dinner was because we needed to discuss the facts of a case and the movie…well that was because Tony took it upon himself to educate me on the cinema and the meaning behind all his movie references. After all, it wasn't like Tony did it because he enjoyed sitting next to me on his couch with a bowl of popcorn between us. It was simply his duty to inform.

Unable to stop my racing mind and fall asleep, I begin to lift my head off of Tony's shoulder. He lifts his head right away and when I look at him he has a question written in his eyes. Apparently he wasn't asleep either.

"I just…" I start. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to say I couldn't sleep because I was thinking too much about him. So instead I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Do you still play the piano?"

Tony looks surprised, as though those were the last words he expected to come out of my mouth. But I hold his gaze, daring him with my eyes to answer my question, and truthfully.

"Sometimes," Tony says after a long moment. "But the only piece I really play is Claire de Lune."

I feel my cheeks flush when he says this, and I hope Tony can't see it the dark cabin. "Oh," I whisper, before leaning my head down again.

During our last lesson, Tony had eagerly played Claire de Lune for me, the same song I had played for him during our first lesson. He said he had been practicing between our lessons and somehow with that it seemed like our lessons were complete. But after all these years Tony still played. And Claire de Lune was the song he played.

It takes a while, but when I eventually fall asleep, it's to the sound of Tony playing Claire de Lune echoing through my head.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A few things I want to mention:

The idea for this piece came to me when I was watching an episode where they are on a military flight and they are sharing a blanket. I decided to wait for this episode to write about their routine though, because we do not get to see any of their traveling in this episode so it felt like a necessary addition. However, for the life of me I cannot seem to remember the actual episode where we do see them share the blanket. I believe it is during season nine, and it definitely takes place before this episode. I just can't remember which. If anyone has an idea of what episode I'm talking about, feel free to PM me or leave the name in a review, that would be much appreciated.

Also, I know at one point during season 10, when Tony's father comes to visit for Christmas, Ziva tells him that she has never actually been in Tony's apartment. However, I for one don't believe that for one second, and from all the Tiva fanfic I've read, I know that much of this fandom feels the same way.

Also, I don't know if you picked up on it, but in the last chapter, "Trust" I actually introduced the idea of Tony and Ziva sharing a blanket during their flights. But I didn't want to get into it in that chapter, since as the title indicates, the focus was on their trust of each other. But I still wanted to do a chapter on this, so voila! There you have it!

One last thing. I have mentioned this to a few readers, but eventually, once I get through all of Ziva's episodes on the show, I will make the last chapter of this story address the disaster of the season 13 finale. Spoiler alert: In my version of things, Ziva will turn out to be alive. But that shouldn't be all that surprising. ;)


	13. Last Chance

**Author's Note:** A little light Tiva fluff is always a good thing. From season 10 episode 4, "Lost at Sea", at the very end when Ziva and Borin leave to go get drinks. Tony's POV.

* * *

"Ziva," interrupts Borin midway through my explanation about why _I_ , Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, would ever be interested in any of McGamer's well…games. "Drink?" she asks Ziva pointedly.

The elated smile that lights up Ziva's face when she then proceeds to tell Borin 'yes' is what makes it finally hit me. The reason, the _real_ reason behind Ziva's little challenge for me and McGee. It all made sense, the way Ziva had cryptically but subtly told me that I'd 'had my chance' when I told her, much too late, that technically I should've asked _her_ out. And even the way Borin had looked at me meaningfully when she'd said that I had 'much better people' ask.

It was as obvious as the nose on my face. The investigative agent in me made me want to slap _myself_ in the back of the head.

"Thank you," Ziva continues smiling but shoots daggers in the direction of me and McGee. "Finally someone has the decency to ask me to join them."

Then with one last parting mirthful glance, Ziva steps away from McGee's desk and follows Borin to the elevators.

"That's what this was about?" I jab my thumb behind me and look back and forth between McGee and Gibbs.

"She set us up because we didn't ask her out in the first place," McGee's thoughts match my own. "How did we miss that?"

I bite my lip. How _did_ we miss that? When it came to things like this, I could typically read Ziva like a book. But this time I, _we_ , messed up. Badly.

"The better question is how you're gonna fix it," Gibbs mutters, not bothered enough to look up from the paperwork on his desk.

That's when my brain finally starts working again. It didn't matter that Ziva fooled us or how, just that we could still redeem ourselves. With that thought in mind, I immediately turn on my heel and make a mad dash for the elevator, McGee on my heels. Behind us I think I hear Gibbs actually chuckling to himself.

"Hold that door!" I call out when it doesn't look like we're going to make it in time before the doors close.

When I do reach the elevator, there is just enough room for me to squeeze my arm in and force the doors to retract. "Oh, I'm in. I'm in," I announce, turning to McGee who stands right beside me.

But McGee is just looking into the elevator with an odd, almost lost look on his face. I turn to see what is puzzling him only to find Ziva standing alone in the elevator looking at the two of us with a predatory smile.

"Um," McGee manages and we climb into the elevator with Ziva.

"Agent Borin took the stairs," Ziva explains. "She thought it would be wise for me to give you two one last chance," she shrugs as though it were no big deal.

Neither of us say anything. After a moment, McGee reaches forward and hits the lobby button.

Then two things happen. First, Ziva starts by hissing McGee's name. Then, from her place standing next to me, she leans into me slightly.

"McGee," she scolds again. "Aren't you going to invite Abby?" she asks innocently.

McGee's gaze meets mine and it's clear he's wondering the same thing. _What is Ziva up to?_

"Yes," McGee decides must be the answer Ziva wants. Then he turns to hit the button for the floor to Abby's lab. While he's turned around, Ziva takes the opportunity to lean back further into me. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat.

When the door pings open to Abby's lab, McGee dares a glance at Ziva, but she is busy inspecting her nails. He shifts his eyes up to me, but I'm frozen in place with Ziva standing so close. I'm so frozen that I can't even move my eyes in silent communication with Tim.

When McGee steps out of the elevator, I wait until he's in Abby's lab to speak.

"Ziva, what are you up to?" I whisper. There's no need for me to speak any louder with her proximity.

Immediately, Ziva spins in place so she's facing me. She tilts her head up so she can meet my gaze and I can feel her breath on my neck and chin. "What do you think, Tony?" she says in a low voice.

"Um, well," I start. But I stop instinctively. There was no way I was going to tell Ziva what I thought she was doing. That was a line I was not ready to cross, although at this point it seemed as though Ziva were ignoring any and all lines and boundaries anyways.

"Huh," Ziva says introspectively when she sees that I'm not saying any more. Then she does that thing that only Ziva can do where she looks me up and down as though she can see right through me and read my every thought.

"Hey guys," Abby says cheerily as she and McGee step into the elevator. At the sound of her voice Ziva turns away from me again, but still keeps her close contact. "Ready for our double date?"

"What?" I feel my eyes bulge.

"Yes," Ziva says at the same time and Abby winks at her. So Ziva had Ms. Sciuto in on this too.

"Oh, Ziva," I start to chuckle as I drag out her name. I have no words to describe what I thought about her right now. So instead I just reach my arm out and drape it around her shoulder, pulling her even closer. In the stainless steel walls of the elevator I think I see her smile.

So Ziva was the better person Borin said I should be asking out. And although I had missed my first opportunity, Ziva was here giving me another chance. And I fully intended on taking it.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** It's season 10 already, so I decided I really needed to start hinting more at the actual and tangible Tiva romance. And I figured this was innocent enough. It's drinks…the four of them have done it millions of times before, only this time Ziva is making it explicitly clear that she's with Tony. But then, she also just enjoys making Tony uncomfortable, so that's always a fail-safe back up plan.

One little thing I wanted to mention: I've started working on my season 13 fix-it chapter, so to speak, and the more I think about it, the more I am coming to realize that the problems needed to be fixed way back in season 11. Specifically from "Past, Present and Future." I'm not going to get into details right now, but I will just say this: Of course Ziva _couldn't_ go back to the US with Tony because Cote left the show, but I feel like if the episode were to really properly characterize Ziva, she would have gone back with Tony. Even her reasons for staying in Israel don't sit right with me. Obviously, I'm sure most of the fandom feels the same way, but it's really starting to bother me to the point where I might actually write a piece that corrects all that. Of course I won't publish it as part of this story because it's supposed to lead up Tony and Tali finding Ziva. If I do write it, it will be a separate story. Anyways, if I do decide to write it, I'll let you know about it in an author's note before the end of this story in case any of you would be interested in reading it.


	14. Her Birthday

**Author's Note:** This chapter is from season 10 episode 6, "Shell Shock: Part 1". In case it wasn't obvious, this chapter is about that scene where Tony shows Ziva the picture of his mother and opens up to Ziva about her. This scene was pure gold (at least in my opinion) for Tiva fans, but I wanted to add to it a bit. I also wanted to work in something about Ziva confiding in Tony about Tali in "Shell Shock: Part 2" because once again we have back-to-back episodes where Ziva and Tony have family issues. And of course they turn to each other for support. *Insert sly grin here.* Ziva's POV.

* * *

" _That which is essential is invisible to the eye_ ," I speak from memory.

I watch Tony's face closely as his eyes widen in shock and then when that passes his mouth erupts into a brilliant smile. And I know that's why I recited that quote. Because I knew it would make Tony smile for just a moment, at least until I explained to him how I really knew the quote.

"Ziva David, did you just quote a movie?" Tony asks, just as I suspected he would.

"No," I say simply. I try not to think about how much I liked the way Tony said my full name like that. "I quoted a book that was made into a movie."

Realization floods Tony's features. "Huh," he nods, no longer surprised.

I can't stop the smile that forms on my lips when I see that Tony was finally coming back to himself. And that I was the one to get him there. But I knew that there was one more thing I could do.

"I've never seen the movie version of _The Little Prince_ , though," I continue. I look at Tony meaningfully. "You should show it to me sometime."

"Okay," is all he says.

But it's in the way that he says it. Like he likes that idea. Like he likes that I am the one who came up with the idea. Because finally he is able to take the pictures and put them back in his bag. When he has finished he clasps his hands together over the table, and then turns to look at me once more. He doesn't need to say it, I know. He needs me to be the one to take the next step, so in that way he can follow.

I reach my hand across the table and splay it over both of his. "Are you ready to go back to work?" I ask gently.

Tony purses his lips softly and nods his head once. "Yeah. Let's go."

I give his hands a quick squeeze and stand up. A moment later, Tony follows. Step completed.

I begin to make my way back down the hallway towards our desks. If Tony needed me to take the lead in this step too, I would. But he quickly falls into step beside me. Almost instantly our paces match and our steps synchronize.

When we get back to our desks, Tony does that thing where he blatantly stares at me. And I do that thing where I lift my head up and stare at him right back. After a moment he grins before being the first to look back down at his desk. That's when I know Tony's back. That's when I know my partner is back.

o-o-o

As soon as the credits begin to roll I reach over to the lamp on the end table and flip the switch. At the other end of the couch, Tony does the same thing.

I feel myself begin to smile, and the thought occurs to me that I've been smiling a lot more recently. Usually around Tony. And I knew the reason was because it was easy for me to be around him. We could read each other so well and we'd known each other so long that we could instantly know what the other needed or was thinking. And it wasn't annoying, like I'd always thought something like that would be. It was nice to have someone who would always understand and who would think for me when I couldn't.

Like the lamp thing. I knew that at the end of a movie, as soon as the credits began to roll, Tony liked to turn on the lamps on the end tables on either side of his couch. And although he never said it, I suspected it was to mimic the effects of a movie theater, one place he knew so well and felt so happy at as a kid.

"So," Tony turns to me. "What'd you think?"

I shift positions on the couch so that my back rests on the arm and I am facing Tony head on. "I liked it," I nod, and I feel myself begin to smile again when Tony visibly relaxes after I've given him my approval.

He had almost looked nervous when I'd arrived at his apartment a few hours ago. And I knew it was because showing me the movie version of _The Little Prince_ made him feel vulnerable. He was sharing his childhood with me. A part that represented both a very happy and very dark time of his childhood.

"You know, Tony," I speculate out loud. "You've shown me a lot of movies over the years. Why never this one?"

I suspected the answer would be right along the lines of what I had thought about the vulnerability associated with this part of his childhood. And while I was indeed on the right track, the exact truth sent shivers down my spine and instantly dried out my mouth.

"Truthfully?" Tony scratches the back of his head. "I kind of have this tradition where I watch _The Little Prince_ every year on my mother's birthday. And only on her birthday," he pauses. "But I made an exception to show it to you. Because I think my mother would have wanted me to."

Instantly my eyes well up with tears. Not only because of what Tony just said about making the exception for me, but because of the striking resemblance between Tony's tradition for his mother and my tradition for Tali on their birthdays.

"Thank you, Tony," I say between shaky breaths. I blink and the unshed tears in my eyes fall.

"Thank _you_ , Ziva," Tony replies.

I think back to when I found Tony in the break room the other day looking at his pictures. _Can I show you something?_ He'd said. _Yes_ , I'd responded, overwhelmingly elated that Tony wanted to open up and share with me. And suddenly I knew that one of these days I would tell Tony my story about the similar tradition I upheld on Tali's birthday. And I knew when I did, we'd both feel less alone.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** All right, that's it for this one. I'm not really one to ask or beg for you to review, but I will say that I do enjoy hearing from you guys and I am so thankful for my regular readers! You guys are the best and keep me motivated to keep writing!


	15. Party of Three

**Author's Note:** This chapter takes place at the end of season 10 episode 8, "Gone." As I'm sure you probably guessed, it revolves around Tony joining Ziva and Schmeil for dinner. It struck me as…not _odd_ , necessarily, but very interesting how eagerly Ziva went along with Schmeil inviting Tony to dinner. After all, she doesn't get to see him too often, and now that she is, she's happy to have Tony come along? There's definitely something more we're not seeing. So I began to think, what if inviting Tony to dinner was Ziva's idea all along, even though it was Schmeil who asked him? Tony's POV.

* * *

"Great news!" Ziva says, all smiles, as she joins me and Schmeil back over at the door. "They were able to find a table for three for us. And it'll be ready in just a moment."

"Excellent!" Schmeil responds, just as enthusiastic.

Despite my best efforts, it was hard not to share their enthusiasm. While yes, it certainly helped that Schmeil was not some dashingly handsome younger man attempting to sweep Ziva off of her feet, I had a hard time not liking the guy. He was just so spirited. And definitely quite the character. And I hated it when Ziva was right.

It was more than how she'd been right about how great Schmeil was. I suddenly understood why she had been raving about him nonstop. But she'd also been right about something I didn't even know was the truth. Something I wasn't even aware was happening until the minute Ziva introduced me to Schmeil.

Ziva knew I was jealous without me even knowing I was jealous. And I was one hundred percent certain that that was the reason, the _only_ reason that Ziva left out the small yet undoubtedly significant detail that Schmeil was old enough to be her grandfather. And the one thing I hated more than being jealous was Ziva knowing I was jealous.

"Ziva, party of three," the hostess announces from the podium.

I am broken from my reverie to find Ziva already standing. Schmeil and I both join a moment later and she loops an arm through mine and her other through Schmeil's. Together we follow a waiter to our table. As soon as we arrive, Ziva excuses herself and heads off to the bathroom. That's when Schmeil turns to me and basically reads my thoughts. Aloud.

"You like that I am old," he states matter of factly.

"Excuse me?" I almost choke on the glass of water I had been drinking from.

"You like that I am old," he repeats.

There is a knowing look in his eyes and I know that there is no point in trying to convince the man that he is wrong. He'd never believe otherwise, because he was obviously right. "You know what, I do," I admit.

"Let me tell you something, DiNozzo," he points at the bathroom door Ziva had disappeared behind moments ago. "These reservations were always for three."

I understand immediately what he's not saying by what he _is_ saying. And essentially, its that I have no reason to be jealous. And even though all green feelings flew out the window the second I saw who Schmeil was, I am still flooded with relief.

Huh," I manage.

Schmeil erupts into laughter and I am taken slightly aback by his response.

"Um," I stutter. Why couldn't I get a single coherent word out of my mouth?

After a moment, Schmeil's laughter fades, but his bemused expression remains. "You mean a great deal to her," he nods his head resolutely.

"I know," I say with just as much fervor, finally able to manage a coherent response.

A minute later Ziva returns, as does our waiter, and we order our dinner. Once the waiter disappears, Schmeil immediately turns his attention to Ziva.

"He's a keeper," he points to me, and I actually feel myself flush.

But Ziva just smiles and gives the same response I had given Schmeil just a few minutes ago. "I know."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Just a few more chapters before Tony and Tali go find Ziva!


	16. Holiday Heroine

**Author's Note:** This one-shot comes from season 10 episode 10, "You Better Watch Out." I got this idea that even though it was Abby who physically brings Tony's father to MTAC for the movie, that it was originally Ziva's idea. Because when Tony mentions in MTAC that he blew it with his father, an… _interesting_ look crosses Ziva's face. That's when I knew it had to be her idea all along. Also, this is the first Christmas episode where it is mentioned that Ziva does not actually celebrate Christmas, so at the end of the story I try to incorporate that as well. Ziva's POV. Please enjoy!

* * *

The squad room is eerily quiet with Tony having gone home and Gibbs and McGee down in Abby's lab. So when the elevator door pings open, the sound resonates and echoes off all the walls. If I weren't me, it might have actually startled me.

"Hey," it's Tony and he walks over to his desk. I watch him silently. He's definitely tense and probably a little more than just angry at the moment. I knew something was going on with his father, but I didn't realize how bad it had gotten.

"Are you okay?" I ask him, my voice filled with trepidation.

Tony stops everything he's doing and looks across our desks at me. "My father is going home," he says.

Tony doesn't bother to get into the details of what exactly happened. But for his father to be leaving on Christmas Eve, I know it must be bad. Tony knows that I know. That I understand. Which is why he says no more.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. There is nothing I can tell him to make whatever this is better, so the best I can do is offer him my condolences.

"Me too," he says, his voice filled with just as much solemnity as my own. He stares ahead of me for a minute more before he flips a switch and is back to business. "Where's Gibbs?" he asks, determined and focused.

"In Abby's lab with her and McGee," I say.

"Okay," Tony says. Then he rises from his desk and makes his way back over to the elevator.

I watch him go and don't tear my gaze away from the elevator until its doors have completely shut. He does not realize I am watching him, and for that I am grateful. When I do shift my eyes, its only to look at all the holiday decorations strewn about the office. All the lights have been drawn, apart from the strings of lights wrapped around the tree and the windows and the stair railings and around almost everything that they could possibly be wrapped around, leaving the squad room basked in a warm, homey light. And sitting on my, Gibbs's and McGee's desks are the tin boxes of cookies Tony's father had baked for us.

Tony's desk is empty. No cookies. And suddenly I know that there had to be more. There had to be a bigger reason Tony's father was here other than just for Christmas.

Quietly, I rise from my desk and walk over to Tony's. I tap his mouse once and his computer screen lights up. It's not locked, and I quickly send a silent prayer of thanks. Using my investigative skills, I am quickly able to find the flight number and departure time for Tony's father's flight back to New York. I scratch it out on a sticky note and shove it in my pocket. Then I run for the elevator.

I fully intend on telling Gibbs that I needed to leave, but as soon as I reach Abby's lab, Gibbs is already on the move.

"The bartender," he barks before jabbing the button for the elevator.

"Our killer," I sigh. It's the way Gibbs says it that gives it away.

"Yep, let's move," he steps into the elevator. He looks at me, Tony, and McGee expectantly. A moment later, the stare breaks the two boys and they rush into the elevator. "Ziver, you coming?"

"Yeah, I'll be right up. I just, uh…have a question for Abby," I take a step backwards into her lab. When Gibbs nods in approval I spin forward and rush over to Abby.

"Hey, you just missed Gibbs. He's got our killer," Abby says when she notices me walk in.

"Abby, I need your help with something," I need to just get to the point. Gibbs was waiting for me upstairs. "Tony's father is leaving."

"I know, he's going to miss the MTAC party and movie screening," Abby gives me her signature pout.

"Here," I pull out the sticky note from my pocket. I hand it to Abby and she reads it over.

"Is this – " she starts.

"I was going to go get Tony's father myself. But now I have to go with Gibbs," I explain. "Abby, do you think you can go pick him up? And bring him to the party?"

"Absolutely," Abby smiles eagerly.

"Okay, great," I sigh, relieved. I begin making my way back over the elevator. "His flight's in an hour so you have enough time to catch him. You might want to bring Dorneget so you have a badge to pass through security though. Oh, and thank you Abby," I say sincerely.

"No," Abby clutches the sticky note to her chest. "Thank _you_ Ziva."

o-o-o

An hour and a half later, I find myself up in MTAC staring at Abby's countdown to Christmas timer on the big screen in front of me. Normally, I'd find this timer pleasant and exciting. Or I would if I celebrated Christmas. But tonight it feels more like the timer on a bomb. I hadn't heard anything from Abby about whether or not she was successful in retrieving Tony's father. And time was running out.

"Sorry I'm late," Tony is explaining and I shift my focus over to him. "I got distracted. Even when he's not around Senior can have an effect on me."

Tony then proceeds to lift up his hand and show us what he holds in it. A ring. Instantly I know what it is and my heart warms. If only Abby and Tony's father would walk through that door.

"Look what I found under the tree," Tony says.

"Oh," Ducky says.

"The family ring," McGee smiles.

"It's beautiful," I tell Tony, taking a step toward him.

"That's why he was here," Tony looks back and forth between me and the ring that stands between us. "He wanted to make amends. And I blew it."

And then I almost let it slip. I almost tell him that it might not be too late. That he might not have blown it after all. But before I can even open my mouth, the MTAC door buzzes and my heart leaps into my throat. It had to be them this time.

"That's Abby," Gibbs says before heading for the door. I keep my lips sealed and say nothing this time.

"May I see it?" steps in Ducky.

"Yeah," Tony hands it to him. "It's got a diamond." Then he glances at me and sees me watching him. He smiles and I smile back. Things would work out for him after all. They had to.

Ducky launches into the history of this type of ring, but my attention is focused solely on the door that Gibbs is opening. When Abby walks through, alone, my hopes momentarily plummet until I see the cheerful grin on her face and the quick look she sends my way.

"Hope you didn't start the movie yet," she says as she walks in. Behind her I see Gibbs's face soften into a smile as he sees whatever stands behind Abby. And I had a feeling I knew what, or rather _who_ , it was.

"Got something for you, DiNozzo," Gibbs steps back and opens the door further.

The moment I see his father and have confirmed that he really is here, I turn my attention to Tony. His playfully endearing look changes to one of awe and wonder at the sight of his father. I actually feel my eyes well up with tears watching it all.

"Merry Christmas everyone," says his father, but he looks only at Tony.

"Hey, Dad," Tony grins softly. "Thanks," he holds up the ring. His father simply nods minutely. "Merry Christmas," Tony concludes and finally, _finally_ steps forward and pulls his father into a hug.

The rest of us quietly allow them to have their moment. Eventually though, Abby begins to clap excitedly. "Oh, this is just so exciting!"

Tony pulls away from his father and looks at the cheerful Abby. "Abby, how did you – " he starts to ask but she interrupts him

"Oh, it was all Ziva," she points at me.

Tony turns his attention to me. He says nothing, just looks at me. But it's that look that he gives only to me. That looks that cannot be described in words because it says so much. That look that leaves me breathless and is heavy, deep and so full of meaning. And it's all I can do to just nod my head in understanding.

"All right, who's ready for a movie?" Tony's father breaks the moment.

"I am," McGee nods and takes the DVD from Tony to go set it up.

"You know, Ziva is the holiday heroine," Abby starts. I eagerly shift my eyes over to her, but I still feel Tony's eyes on me. "And she doesn't celebrate Christmas. Maybe we should watch a Hanukkah movie for her."

"Oh no, Abby," I shake my head. "I don't mind watching Christmas movies with you guys. After all, the things you celebrate during Christmas," I shrug before listing off a few. "Family," I look to Gibbs. "Friends," I turn to McGee. "Love," I glance back over at Tony. "Kindness," finally my eyes land back on Abby. "Those are the same things we celebrate during Hanukkah."

Abby looks uncertain but eventually concedes. "Okay," she nods. "But next year…" she says warningly, leaving the thought just hanging.

I chuckle at her stubbornness before suddenly feeling myself being tugged. I look behind me to find Tony's father dragging me by the arm over to the seats. He gestures for me to take a seat next to Tony before sitting on his son's other side.

Once I'm seated, Tony maneuvers in his seat so that his shoulder is touching mine. The contact is warm, comforting, enticing, alluring, and everything else in between. But we stay just like that, even after Gibbs turns down the lights and McGee hits Play.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Well, I hope you guys enjoyed. I am sure I'm not the only one who believes Tony's father is _such_ a Tiva shipper. In fact, he might even be club president, lol!

Also, this story hit over 50 reviews! You guys have no idea what a milestone that is for me. I've never received 50 reviews on a story before, so it's a big day for me. :) Thank you to everyone who has taken the time read and review my story. And a big special thanks to tlaloo81, Sue Dooley, and Debbie for your continued support and encouragement through your PMs and/or reviews! You guys are the best!


	17. Indeed

**Author's Note** : This chapter revolves around season 10 episode 12, "Shiva." It takes place at the very end after Ziva says good-bye to Tony and boards her flight to Israel for her father's funeral. I decided to write this chapter because I wanted to bring back something I had written about in an earlier chapter, as you will see once you read this. Also, this chapter is so short it actually qualifies more as a drabble than a one-shot. Ziva's POV.

* * *

The only thing I can see out the tiny airplane window is my own reflection in the darkness. I look sad, and the shadows of the night only accentuate the pain even I can see in my eyes and the tension in my jaw. So I look away.

Instead I stare straight ahead at the back of the seat in front of me. The pattern of the fabric consists of interweaving dark and light blues and I stare hard at it until I can make out individual threads.

"Ziva," Schmeil says eventually, pulling my focus away from the fabric. I had been so focused I hadn't even seen him approach. A moment later I realize that we were in the air now too. When had that happened?

"He wanted me to give this to you," Schmeil takes the seat next to mine and reaches into his bag to retrieve something.

"Who?" I ask, but the moment he pulls out The Blanket, I know that 'he' was Tony.

Schmeil hands me The Blanket and I take it eagerly, pulling it in close. _Well you always forget your gum or magazines when you fly_ , Tony had said to me before I had left. But it hadn't made sense because _I_ was the one who always remembered to bring the gum. _He_ always forgot. I hadn't thought much about it at the time, but now I realize that he was telling me that he was delivering The Blanket without actually saying that in so many words.

I smile to myself now as Schmeil gets up and returns to his seat and I unwrap The Blanket and tuck it around myself. It smells faintly like the mint gum Tony and I chew during our flights and also a bit like musty jet fuel. But mostly it smells like Tony. So I breathe in deep, letting his smell surround me, and let myself pretend that he's with me. I had told Tony that I knew I was not alone, but I really had no idea until now.

 _At lo levad_ , indeed.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I hope you liked it! Anyways, I have a quick question for my readers, and you can feel free to share your opinion in a review or PM if you'd prefer. I have five (maybe six) chapters left before I delve into the season 13 fiasco and share with you my own take on what happens after the finale. That part of this story will be much longer than any one of these chapters so I was wondering: Would you prefer me to post that part as one big final chapter even if it will be longer than the rest? Or would you rather me split up that part of the story into smaller, one-shot length chapters like they are right now? I can't decide what I want to do so I thought I'd ask my readers if they have any preferences. :)


	18. The Weight of the World

**Author's Note:** This chapter comes from season 10 episode 15, "Hereafter." To make a long story short, I think there needed to be a lot more said about Ziva stepping up and watching over Vance's kids. And I think Tony would be just the one to do it. Plus, Tony and kids…that's too good an opportunity to miss. Ziva's POV.

* * *

" _As good as it can be_?" Tony repeats my words verbatim as he rushes to catch up to me. "Hey, Ziva. Wait," he says breathlessly.

I've made it to Vance's front porch before I turn around, and when I do, Tony eases the door shut behind him. "Are you okay?" he asks, not a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "It couldn't have been easy standing in the place where your father died," his voice is calm and slow, as though reproachful that the truth of the words might scare me off. As if.

"I thought it would be," I admit, keeping the same even tone in my voice as well. "And at first it was. Especially with you insolently glued to the door and the kids staring at you wide-eyed and terrified," I say harshly.

Tony has the audacity to look embarrassed, at least. But there was more I needed to say, and I take a step toward him, placing my hand over his chest without even thinking.

"But then there was the pizza, and the movie, and…and their laughter," I dare to look up at Tony's face and see that his expression has softened from one of guilt to tenderness. "And it made me realize how much good was still left in the world. I mean, Vance's children are still alive," I feel my eyes well up with tears of gratitude. "And despite losing their mother, they can still find it in their hearts to laugh again. And before I knew it, I was laughing too. So…thank you, Tony."

I drop my hand from his chest and it falls limp at my side. I feel my pulse slow to a peaceful lull, now that I have gotten all this off of my chest. I clench the same fist once before turning away from Tony and begin to make my way down the driveway to the car.

"What?" Tony pursues me again. "Why are you thanking me?"

I immediately turn to face him again, shocked. "Tony…" I'm momentarily speechless. "That in there, that was all you," I point to the Director's house. " _You_ made those kids smile. _You_ made those kids laugh."

Now it's Tony's turn to be speechless. I stare at him and stares at me straight back with such intensity as though the weight of the world rested on both our shoulders. And after several long beats, I am the first to speak again.

"You may not like kids, Tony. But they sure do like you," I can't help but crack a small smile at the thought of 'Tony' and 'kids' in the same sentence.

Tony's acute senses are able to detect the shift in the energy of our environment. I'm smiling now, and very quickly he is too. At last, the world is no longer resting on our shoulders, the burden was no longer on us.

Tony quickly closes the gap between us and pulls out the keys to unlock the car. "Okay, fine Ziva. You win," he leans in close. "Maybe I'm not so bad with kids after all. But I'm still never having any of my own."

I quirk my brow, clearly conveying my disbelief. Still, I decide not to push it. So I shrug and step away from him, moving around the front of the car to the passenger side. I open the door and look over the hood at him to see he's waiting for me to say something. Anything.

I give him my best hedonistic smile. "If you say so."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A little foreshadowing, perhaps? I couldn't decide if I wanted to include this subtle reference to their (very) near future, but eventually decided that this chapter needed a little comic relief, and thought it would be a good way to end the chapter. So I hope you liked that. And again, I know, a pretty short one. But I don't want to overdo it. Tony and Ziva's relationship was always very subtle and I don't want to take them out-of-character by pushing anything too far.


	19. I'm Your Partner

**Author's Note:** This chapter comes to you from season 10 episode 20, "Chasing Ghosts." It takes place right at the very end after Gibbs tells Ziva to take Tony with her to Europe to track down Bodnar. We don't see it, but I am sure Ziva would put up some kind of protest against bringing Tony. Again, this one is very very short, drabble-short. But it's a very quick moment and I only wrote what I felt was necessary. But to make up for it I will be posting the next chapter tomorrow which will be longer than this one (*cough cough* Berlin *cough*). Tony's POV.

* * *

I pay an acute amount of attention to Gibbs's and Ziva's conversation across the Squad Room and I didn't feel the least bit bad or remorseful about it. Ziva knew McGee and I had been waiting all day for the moment when she'd approach Gibbs about tracking down Bodnar. And it was no coincidence that she chose this as her opportunity with McGee and I still in the room.

I wasn't sure what McGee was watching for, other than Gibbs's reaction to Ziva's request, but I was watching, _waiting_ , for Gibbs to say something in particular.

"What are you waiting for?" Gibbs says to Ziva now. Then his eyes finally slide over to me and I zero in on his next words, the words I'd been waiting for. "Take DiNozzo. Go."

I remain seated, prepared for Ziva's protest. But I must patiently wait for it because the moment she turns from Gibbs's desk, it's to lock eyes with someone standing above me. I don't need turn around to know that it is Director Vance, and I don't need any explanation as to the minute nod she sends in his direction. I know it's a promise. Her promise to him, to end this once and for all. For all that they had both lost.

When Ziva's attention finally shifts to me, I rise from my chair, never once breaking eye contact with her. It doesn't take long for her to address me.

"I do not need your protection," she says resolutely, but not unkindly.

Immediately I send a look of shock and surprise her way. _Really?_ She knew that had to be the absolute _last_ reason I was going with her. I step around from behind my desk and walk right up to her, closer than I needed to be to say what I could've said from back behind my desk.

"Ziva, we've been working together for eight years. We both know you don't need my protection," I cock my head to the side. "That's not why I'm going with you."

That's all I say. I don't need to say that the reason I was going was because I cared about her. That I supported her and wanted to just simply be by her side no matter what the consequences. Ziva knew that. _Gibbs_ knew that; it was why he told Ziva to bring me.

Yet Ziva decides she wants me to say it out loud anyway. "Then why?" she challenges.

There was no simple way to sum up and explain the reasons that Ziva already knew. So I put it in as simple terms as possible, using a word whose definition and boundaries often blurred when it was used in terms of our relationship to each other.

"Because I'm your partner."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Okay, I just want to quickly thank those of you who gave me your opinion on how I should address the issue of chapters when it comes to the post-season 13 part of this story. Most of you seem to prefer wanting me to split it up into at least two or more chapters, which is what I am going to end up doing. I think I can include more Tiva (and Tiva plus Tali) fluff and cuteness that way, but more importantly I think it will be more homogenous with the format of the rest of the story. Thanks for sharing, guys! And I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.


	20. Peaceful Oblivion

**Author's Note:** This scene comes to you from season 10 episode 21, "Berlin." It takes place during the scene right after Tony and Ziva have their conversation with Gibbs and McGee in MTAC from their hotel room in Berlin. Ziva mentions how she cannot sleep, but does not elaborate. I made the connection to when she was having nightmares when she slept over at Tony's and decided I wanted to elaborate on that. This chapter runs through this whole scene and more from Ziva's POV. At the end there is a smaller part in Tony's POV. Please enjoy.

* * *

I could always feel my exhaustion through my arms. When it became the most difficult of tasks to simply lift an article of clothing and hang it in the closet, like I was doing now, I knew that I was about to crash and burn.

But these days I didn't so much crash as just burn.

Ever since my father died, I'd had trouble sleeping. It wasn't the first time in my life that this had happened to me in times of loss and heartbreak. But this time it was particularly trying, as this inveterate coping mechanism had developed to elude the horrific nightmares that often accompanied such tragedy.

Only the nightmares I suffered now were my reality, so I couldn't escape from it, whether awake or asleep. Often times all I would have to do is close my eyes, and fully conscious the reality nightmare would haunt me; I'd see my father, bloodied and lifeless laying on the ground, his mouth turned downward in an eternal frown while I stood helpless and feeble nearby.

So I refused to sleep. But even on the rare occasion when exhaustion defeated my will, my sleep was fitful and did little to re-energize me, as that was when the nightmare was at its worst.

I sigh now, just thinking about this predicament, and what I would do to occupy my time while Tony took his nap. Because being idle was not an option. The nightmare could find me in that state too.

I shut the closet door and turn to face Tony, still evaluating my predicament. His demeanor shifts from silly and sensual to soft and sensitive almost immediately, and I just know he sees how exhausted I am too.

"Come on. You should get some sleep too," he says, verbally confirming my suspicions.

I narrow my eyes slightly at him, provoked by his choice of words. _Come on_. Was he suggesting that I lay down beside him? I told him I would take the sofa bed, but I found the idea of simply resting beside him oddly appealing. And comforting. And everything I needed right now.

When I do and say nothing, Tony lets his eyes fall shut. Only then do I find the courage to step forward in his direction. When I make it over to the bed, I can see how peaceful his expression is, even though I know he is still awake. That's what prompts me to speak.

"I cannot sleep," I admit, promptly. Then I lower down on the empty half of the bed, adjusting the pillow beneath my head.

I am facing Tony so I see it when his eyes flutter open briefly before falling shut again. Then, when he speaks, he doesn't bother to open his eyes.

"Last night, on the plane, you were thinking about your dad," he pauses, his voice soft and slow. "What was it?"

I shrug, but obviously Tony doesn't see that so I search for the words I could use to answer such a difficult question as simply as possible. "A lot of things," I settle on.

With that Tony actually turns his head to face me and opens his eyes. I feel myself relax, suddenly realizing how much I needed that contact. Just through the eyes.

"We'll get Bodnar tonight," Tony keeps his eyes on me, his voice emanating the hope and confidence that was quickly slipping through my fingers.

"I know," I whisper having enough of it left the get these words out.

I watch Tony's eyes shift back and forth, and I can tell he's searching my face for answers to something, anything. Answers that I didn't have, but that maybe he could find for me. Then, when Tony speaks again, his words take me by surprise, as I didn't think he'd heard me when I'd told him I couldn't sleep just moments ago.

"Is it the nightmares?" he asks. "Is that why you can't sleep?" his tone is not belittling nor sympathetic. But rather filled with empathy and a keen level of understanding. That is what prompts me to nod my head, my voice suddenly eluding me.

Tony says nothing, but turns on his side so he is fully facing me now. He waits for me to say more, without pushing me to do so.

Eventually, I do.

"It's a nightmare, but it's also my reality. The nightmare is of watching my father die in front of me. But when I wake up the nightmare is not over. Because I _did_ watch my father die. It is my reality," my voice feels thick as I feel tears well in my eyes. Tears that never fall.

This time, Tony reaches his arm behind my back and pulls my body in close to his, tucking my head beneath his chin. "Try to get some sleep now," I feel the words vibrate through his chest, and fearlessly I move my hand over his heart.

The feeling of his chest rising and falling beneath my hand and the warmth emanating from his body begins to successfully lull me into sleep. But what really allows me to fall into a peaceful oblivion was simply Tony's presence. His being here with me in the here and now with his arm wrapped around my back and his heart beating in time with my own.

o-o-o

When I wake, it's to feel Ziva's soft breath against my neck and I immediately feel a grin spread across my face. Not a triumphant grin about sharing a bed with the only woman I ever wanted to share a bed with, but an elated grin at the fact that Ziva was actually getting some sleep. Finally.

Carefully I tilt my head down and place the lightest of kisses on the crown of her head.

Everything would be okay, I realize. Because this right here, this was Ziva's reality too.


	21. Hands

**Author's Note:** I am so sorry it took so long to post this chapter. I was on vacation last week and I thought I would be able to get in one more chapter before I left with a warning that I was going on vacation and not abandoning this story, but alas, that did not happen. But I am back, and today I have for you a chapter that takes place at the very beginning of season 10 episode 22, "Revenge." Basically it is what happens between Tony and Ziva between the time of the accident and when Gibbs and Vance show up to see them at the ER.

* * *

The second Bodnar and his escape vehicle disappear from view, they also disappear from my thoughts as a more pressing matter takes precedence.

Tony.

It didn't make sense that he was still unconscious. Bodnar had hit _my_ side of the car. I try not to get too anxious as I reach for Tony with my left arm, my right arm was numb from firing after Bodnar, to check to see if he had a pulse.

" _Please, please, please_ ," I mutter to myself as I press two fingers to the side of his neck. I almost pass out with relief when I feel the familiar rhythm of a human pulse. He was alive.

Having had my head scrambled mere moments ago it takes me a moment to realize that the next thing I needed to do was call 9-1-1. And actually, I was so messed up that I thought of Gibbs first. But with concern for Tony's condition, I wait until the dispatcher hangs up with me, with an ambulance on its way, before I call Gibbs.

"Bodnar, it was Bodnar," I ground through my teeth the moment Gibbs picks up his phone. "He…he hit us – took the diamonds – I fired after him but my arm…" remembering my arm, I feel a streak of angry agony rip up from my fingertips through my shoulder. "It's on fire," I say breathelessly.

"Ziva, Ziva. Slow down," comes Gibbs voice blasting through the speaker. "What happened?"

I pause and gulp down air, the pain in my arm and Tony's still unconscious condition really starting to get to me. But I needed to explain to Gibbs that Bodnar was _here_ in the States, before it was too late. Again.

"Okay, it's going to be okay, Ziver. I'll meet you and Tony in the ER, all right? I'm leaving right now," I hear shuffling noises in the background and then faintly the sound of the elevator doors pinging open.

I'm about to tell Gibbs that no, he needed to go after Bodnar, that I was fine, but just then Tony begins to stir.

"Okay," is the last thing I say to Gibbs before dropping the phone.

Immediately, I reach for Tony, using my good hand to grab his. The second I do, his eyes start to flutter open and mine begin to fill with tears. A strangled noise escapes from deep in his throat and I worry that he is choking until a second later when his hand, his free hand that's not being held in my vice-like grip, flies up to his nose.

"Ow," he rasps.

"Tony," I say firmly, assessing his consciousness. In the distance I see the sparkling lights of the ambulance approach.

"Ziva," Tony tries to turn his head to face me, but winces and gives up immediately. "What were you about to say?"

"I'm sorry?" I lean in closer to him, as much as my aching body will allow me to, as though that might help me understand him better. I assume he is just confused, he more than likely has suffered a concussion, and it is altering his perception.

That is, until he speaks again.

"Right before we were hit," he swallows slowly. Out the window, I see that the ambulance has arrived and the EMTs are on their way over. "You said my name. Like…like you wanted to tell me something," Tony says very sluggishly.

That's when I realize that he is right. That it is not his concussion talking. Because I had said his name. And I had wanted to tell him something.

But now, with the blood drying from under his nose, my arm hanging limp at my side, and EMTs swarming our vehicle, bathed in the flashing red lights of emergency, it hardly seemed like the time to tell him.

And what I was going to tell him exactly, I was not sure. All I knew was that when I said his name, whatever words would have come out of my mouth next would have been right. They would have showed him how much I cared and appreciated him. How much I loved him.

But now wasn't the time, and now I could not find the right words.

"I don't know," I settle with, as the EMTs begin to open our doors.

The net few minutes are a blur. And although it feels like hours, I know that it's only minutes that pass before we find ourselves in the ambulance. All I know for sure though is that I held onto Tony's hand for as long as I could and then as soon as I could once we were situated inside of the ambulance. Tony was forced to take the stretcher because his concussion was clearly worse than mine. As soon as I could get out of the car, I had gotten up and walked over to Tony's side, the world only slightly spinning on its axis. Tony, on the other hand, could hardly stand without support.

When we arrive at the ER, the x-rays show Tony's broken nose and my fractured humerus, but other than that, we were 'extremely lucky,' according to the smiling doctor. I had sent a death glare in his direction the second he had said that.

Now it was simply a waiting game. Tony had already had his nose bandaged, there wasn't much they could do for that. I still needed to have my arm set and wrapped in a sling. We had both been given bottles of water and instructed to empty them.

All I really wanted though, besides getting out of here, was to feel Tony's hand in mine again. But the beds were spaced to far apart, and even if we were closer, the doctors had put Tony on my right side, my bad side.

"I already have to pee," Tony says, bring me back to the presence. My gaze shifts up to his water bottle which isn't even halfway empty yet.

I chuckle. "Think you can walk to the bathroom by yourself?" I turn my head up to look at him.

He gives me a sidelong glance. "Very funny, David," he grunts as he begins to shift himself off the bed.

I sit up so fast that I feel my head spin again. I shake it off though, and glance over at Tony, concerned. "I don't think you should be doing that."

"I'll be fine," he stands up on his own and takes a step in my direction. "See, totally – oh my God!"

"What?" I say alarmed, reaching forward in case he fell. But he doesn't. Instead he leans in toward the paper towel dispenser on the wall between our beds. It is made of reflective medal and he lifts his hand to his nose.

"My whole face is going to be black and blue!" he groans and I fall back against my pillow, exasperated.

"I think you're being a little dramatic, Tony," I tell him.

"A little dramatic?" he pulls his gaze away from his reflection in the towel dispenser and looks at me. He grabs one of the railings on my bed for support. I watch his balance carefully. "Ziva, did you see this? Or was your concussion worse than we thought?"

"Tony would you stop being so – "

"Ms. David?" a young doctor in dark green scrubs walks up to me. "I'm Doctor Harrison," she introduces herself. "I'd love to shake your hand, but as the orthopedist assigned to your case, how about we set that fracture first?" she says, false cheer filling her voice.

"Finally," I sigh. "Let's get this done with," I sit up.

I think my abrupt nature startles her a little because she takes a moment before coming up to me. "All right, so this is going to hurt quite a bit, so I'm going to explain what we're going to do here. First off, Mr….," her voice trails off and it takes Tony and I a moment to realize that she is talking to him.

"Oh me," Tony points to himself and smiles.

"All right, Mr. Oh Me," Doctor Harrison chuckles at her little joke. "Do you mind stepping over to the other side of Ms. David's bed so I can get to her injured arm?"

"Right," Tony's charisma fades as he attempts to quickly shuffle to my other side.

"Okay, Ms. David. So what I am going to do now is grab your arm like this," she reaches forward and clamps her icy hands around my arm. "And on the count of three I'm going to just snap it right back into place. Easy, right?"

"Yes, just please do it already," I can't keep the impatience out of my voice. She needed to stop treating me like a child.

Yet, I still reach for Tony's hand with my left and squeeze tight when she begins to count and when she gets to three and sends white hot pain shooting up my arm and through my chest, I feel Tony squeeze back just as tight. So I focus on him and his presence and the feeling of his hand wrapped in mine, and slowly the pain recedes to the back of my mind.

Just like I refused to let go of Tony's hand in the ambulance, he now keeps his fingers woven tightly through my own while Doctor Harrison wraps me up in a sling and does a few final pulls and tugs before excusing herself.

"Hey, that wasn't so bad, right?" Tony uses his free hand to grab a tissue and daps it against my balmy forehead.

"I need to stand up," I say, resolved that standing would help me feel better; feel more controlled and alert.

"As you wish," Tony helps me slide off the bed.

Then together we walk around our small corner of the ER, hand in hand, and using each other for support and encouragement. We don't let go, not even when Tony can stand on his own and when my pain meds start kicking in. Not until we hear Gibbs's voice on the other side of the ER doors. Then we let go, but it's with a quick squeeze that serves as a promise. A promise that says _we're letting go, but just for right now._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** All right, two more chapters before I delve into season 13. I wanted to let you all know that I have decided to go with making that part of the story multi-chaptered, rather than just one chapter. I think it'll be more homogenous with the format of this story and it seemed to be what most of you wanted anyways. And as always, I hope you enjoyed.


	22. A Matter of Time

**Author's Note:** So this is the last chapter before the season 13 part. It takes place during season 10 episode 24, "Damned If You Do," however it has to do with something that happens in the previous episode "Double Blind." And that's the part where Tony is in the elevator with Parsons and he is calling himself the bear and telling Parsons not to go after the bear's best friend. The way he calls Ziva his best friend is with such conviction and faith and emotion that I could not simply ignore it. So when Parsons nags at Ziva when they're in the elevator during "Damned If You Do," I decided elongate their conversation by having him follow Ziva off the elevator. Ziva's POV. Please enjoy!

* * *

It was all I could do not to simply sprint off the elevator and get away from Parsons and his conniving and deceptive attitude. And while I do wordlessly take off the minute the doors slide open, I keep my head firmly on my shoulders and curtly take my leave.

"Agent David," comes Parsons voice from behind me. I turn and find him standing just outside the elevator. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he's rocking back on his heels.

"Stay away from me," I snap, my voice dangerously low. If this man had any common sense he'd know to get away from me as quickly and as quietly as possible.

"I have one last question for you," he pauses and takes a step forward. I consciously take a step back immediately. "May I?"

I want to throw a hundred thousand slanderous words and accusations at him. But the rational part of me knows that is what he wants and that I need to continue to lay low. Yet I know if I open my mouth, I'll regret it, so I give him a small, hesitant nod.

"Well, the other day I was talking with Tony in the elevator, much like you and I were doing just a moment ago," he starts, pulling a hand out of his pocket to point at the elevator right behind him. "Except Tony had a lot more to say than you did, I'm afraid. For instance, he told me, rather vehemently, that you were his best friend," he stops talking.

And I know it's to gauge my reaction. And of course, stupid me feels my damn heart leap out of my chest at the thought of Tony calling me his best friend. It was ridiculous, really. It was no different from the hundreds of times Tony had told someone that I was like his sister. Except that it _was_ different and I didn't know why. Because Tony never told anyone that I was his best friend. Not even me.

"I didn't hear a question," I say through clenched teeth.

Parsons shrugs and his lips curl up into an evil smile. He knew exactly what he was doing. Before I realize I'm doing it, I take several steps forward, closing the distance between us. I was tired of running, tired of being the prey. It was time to be the predator again.

I keep my voice even and cold. "What exactly are you implying?" the words come out of my mouth, icicles bent on inflicting lasting damage.

Parsons eyes light up as he responds with that whole _you tell me_ deal. If I had a fraction less of the self-control that I did, that would have been it for me. I truly believe I would have snapped his neck right there in the empty squad room of NCIS. Because you can mess with my job, but you cannot mess with my personal life and use the people that I love as worthless bait.

Instead, I simply give him a predatory smile and tilt my head to the side. Then I whisper the words he had murmured to himself in the elevator before pursing me, when he thought I couldn't hear him.

" _It's only a matter of time_ ," I start to back up. "Right?" Then I spin on my heel and walk away.

This was not a game. And we would win.

o-o-o

The squad room is still empty when I return a half hour later after retreating to the break room to get away from Parsons. But I need to find Tony. I need to talk to him. Yet something keeps me rooted to my desk. Keeps me staring at his empty chair before me, knowing that this was the place I needed to talk to him.

It's not until he comes down the stairs from Vance's office a mere five minutes later that I find the strength to uproot myself from my chair and walk over to where Tony stands in front the of screen between his and McGee's desks. He pulls up a picture of Parsons and sighs audibly.

"Tony," I state and he immediately turns to face me. I am standing right next to him and he has to look down at me. "I need to – can I... ask you something?" I stutter.

"Uh huh," he doesn't pick up on my nervousness and turns back to the screen. Or maybe he does notice and turns away to give me space to think and find the courage to speak. That's more like it, really.

"Am I your friend?" I start.

"Yes," he says without thinking.

"Am I your best friend?" I inquire.

"Of course," his response is once again immediate. He turns slightly toward me. "Am I yours?" he grins.

"Yes," I say cogently, feeling my lips ease into a smile that matches his own.

We keep our eyes locked on each other for a moment more, a simple, easy, and terrifying moment before Tony breaks it by clearing his throat. He looks uncomfortable, but I might just be imagining it.

"All right, _bestie_ , I've got to go find McGee," Tony places a hand on my shoulder briefly before heading for the elevators. I stand in the same spot for a beat longer before walking back over to my desk. I don't sit down this time, because I'm afraid I will get stuck again.

"Hey Ziva," Tony calls out and I snap my head up to find him holding the elevator door from closing. "I take it back. You're not my best friend."

I expect him to say something more, but when he doesn't I realize that it is because he is waiting for my response.

"Okay," I shrug, not so much hurt as just confused.

"You're my…" Tony pauses, as if searching for the right word. He looks to his left before shifting his eyes back to me. He pulls his hand away from the door and just before it closes he says it.

"Everything."

Then he's gone. So I can't tell him the truth: _I know. You're my everything too._

 _And it's only a matter of time._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So that is it for this part of the story. I was originally going to write one more chapter before moving into season 13 territory, but I decided against it. It was going to be about Tony and Ziva in Israel in "Past, Present and Future," and the events leading up to the conception of Tali, however I simply do not write smut and I could not for the life of me find a way to make it about anything other than Tony and Ziva having sex because the episode does a fair job with all the other emotional aspects. So I decided to leave it alone.

 **Important:** Please take note that it might be a while before I post the next chapter. Each of the following chapters are going to be interrelated to each other as the conclusion to this piece as the (*spoiler*) reuniting of Tony, Ziva, and Tali. Because each chapter is related, I am going to wait until I am completely finished with the story to post them in case I need to go back and edit certain chapters because of what happens in later chapters. But no matter how long it takes, I PROMISE you I have not come this far in the story to just give it up. I just ask for a little patience. Until next time!


	23. The Yellow Awning

**Author's Note:** Long time, no chapter! My deepest apologies; my fall semester was a killer this year. But, now I am on my winter break and can start to make some more headway on this story. Originally I planned on writing all the chapters of the second part of this story before publishing them because now they are all interconnected, but that's going to take a while, so I thought I would start to publish what I have already gotten written. Hopefully those of you who enjoyed this story before will pick it up again, I have enjoyed each and every one of you!

 **Author's Note (2):** The first chapter in the second half of this story, takes place in Ziva's POV. Please enjoy! (Please note that there is some French in here, but you don't have to plug it into a translator if you don't understand it, because I try to find a way to work in a translation for each phrase/sentence.)

* * *

With my hand shielding my eyes from the harsh summer sunlight, I squint my eyes and take in the sign on the yellow awning just above my head. _LE PETIT CAFÉ PRÈS DE LA TAMISE._ It's the same awning from all those years ago when I sat here and ate a real Parisian croissant for breakfast with Tony. The green paint used for the letters has faded to almost the same hue of yellow as the awning itself. But I still recognize the place.

Next I shift my head downward to the table in front of me. The small wooden table and wicker chairs were also the same and from the recesses of my mind I am able to tell that this was the same table we sat at as well.

Just then a rotund, dwarfish and middle-aged man with a cherub smile sidles up next to me.

"Bienvenue, mademoiselle!" he boasts. "Assez-vous, s'il vous plait," he gestures to one of the seats in front of me.

On impulse, I take the seat, but I immediately regret it because the man starts to pull out a pad of paper from his apron, mistakenly confusing my presence here for hunger. Although it's not like I could blame him, this was a café after all, and people came here to, well…eat.

"Monsieur," I make a gesture with my hand to get his full attention. "Etês-tu le patron?" I start. If he wasn't the owner, then maybe he'd be able to send me in his or her direction.

Fortunately, this grabs his attention and the hand holding the pad of paper falls to his side as he registers my troubled and serious tone. "Oui," he says hesitantly.

I hesitate. I had planned out this conversation and the hundreds of ways it could play out in my head during my flight to Paris. The one thing I hadn't considered though was my own nerves and what role they would play.

 _You want to tell him a story, Ziva_ , I remind myself.

"Je peux vous raconteur un histoire, oui?" I manage to inquire.

Several heartbeats later, I watch in awe as the man pulls out the chair across from mine and slowly lowers himself into it. When he is finally at eye level I am able to reach his watery blue eyes and see the concern written into them. I could only hope this would work. That my story would move him enough to help me.

"Oui," he says firmly. "S'il vous plait, commencez."

And so I do. I take a deep breath, and I start.

o-o-o

His name was Jean-Luc.

As soon as I had told him my name, Ziva David, I didn't think an alias was necessary, he had insisted on sharing his name as well, so that way we'd be at the same level with each other.

Somehow, that made me more comfortable with this situation and this man. Because then my story poured out. I shared with him the condensed version of the reason why I was here in Paris and why I was here at his café specifically.

I tell him a less frightening version of the truth, though. So instead of telling Jean-Luc that a power hungry opportunist who happened to be the director of a highly influential agency in the Middle East was after me and my family, I told him that my parents had taken my away from my husband and child, but I managed to escape and was now waiting for my husband to hopefully find me.

This alone had Jean-Luc practically in tears. I was beginning to realize what a big teddy bear this man was, and to see someone so open and expressive about their emotions was refreshing. I could probably learn a lot from him. But what really had the tears falling down his face was when I got to the part of my story where I told him that it was at his café that my husband and I had visited years ago and was where the clues I had set up for him to find me would hopefully lead him.

When I finally got to the part of my story where I was supposed to ask Jean-Luc for help, he had already profusely offered his condolences and services in any way possible. So I bit the bullet and asked him if it would be possible for him to hire me as a waitress so I would have a reason to be here when my husband and child hopefully came here looking.

"Bien sûr," he agrees boastfully. Immediately he rises, taking my hand and pulling me up with him. His expression changes as something occurs to him. "J'ai une idée," he says and pulls me into the café with him.

o-o-o

I had to admit, Jean-Luc's 'idea' took me by a fair amount of surprise.

I was a little worried at first, as he led me by the arm into the café, past the counter and into a stairwell in the back of the shop. Then I was really worried. It was one of those rare moments I wished I still carried a gun. I considered myself a good judge of character, but right then I questioned the character I had originally perceived Jean-Luc to be.

"Après vous," his tone is still laced with excitement and I glance up the narrow stairwell.

The white paint is so chipped that the walls looks like a beaten birch tree and the stairs groan in protest as I begin to slowly make my way up the stairs. I've never been claustrophobic, but in that moment I feel my throat tighten and my vision narrow.

I remind myself to breathe, and by the time we get to the top and Jean-Luc squeezes in front of me, I feel a sigh of relief escape between my lips that he was in front of me and I could watch his every move. Standing before us was a matching birch tree door with a bronze handle.

Jean-Luc pulls a key out of his apron and uses it to unlock the door before swinging it open. Then he turns to face me and holds out the key. "Pour vous, Ziva," he says kindly.

My worry immediately turns to confusion, which must be obvious on my face because Jean-Luc steps inside the room in front of us, waving his hand for me to follow.

What I find in front of me is a small, furnished apartment. And when I say small, I mean small. On one end is a tiny kitchen. A sink, stove, and a single cabinet make up the entire kitchen. At the other end stands two tall windows, with a breathtaking glimpse of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Underneath that stands a double bed, with a brilliantly colored quilt that stands out against the starkness of the rest of the room.

"You work for me," Jean-Luc starts in broken English. "Your pay is this room, oui?" he says eagerly.

"Jean-Luc," I say, touched.

It was perfect. I had originally planned to stay in a hotel, but if I could live here then I would always be around and would almost definitely be here if and when Tony and Tali arrived.

"Merci, oh merci!" I exclaim and I don't resist when he pulls me into a giant bear hug.

For the first time in a very long time I actually let myself laugh and actually feel hope and excitement for the possibility of actually getting my family back.

Jean-Luc then excuses himself, saying that he needs to get back downstairs to work. But he says that tonight we would work out a schedule for my hours that would work for the both of us. I thank him profusely once more before he disappears behind the door.

Once I'm alone I open my palm and look down at the key in my hand. The key that opened the door to my new apartment, but that was also currently opening a floodgate of emotions within me. How was it possible to feel your heart soaring and sinking all at the same time? It was a strange sensation, and I have to remind myself to breathe and keep my head firmly on my shoulders.

With a semblance of resolution, I close my palm, the key firmly inside and then lift my single bag onto the counter. I had brought few belongings with me. All that was necessary. Several changes of clothes, hair brush, toothbrush, a pocket knife. And two things that took a fair amount of space in my bag, but that I refused to be without. Two picture frames. In one, Tali sits wrapped in a fluffy blue towel, her hair dripping and sticking to her face from her bath. In the other is of Tony and me, a picture a few years old that Abby had taken of us when she, McGee, Tony and I had gone out to dinner after the successful closing of a case.

I pull these two frames out of my bag and quickly glance around for a place to put them. My eyes land on one of the windows by the bed, and I walk over, a frame in each hand.

Directly below the window is the yellow awning of the café front. Just in my line of vision is the table I had just sat at with Jean-Luc and that I had sat at with Tony once upon a time.

This seemed just as good a place as any, if not more symbolically significant, so I set them down on the windowsill with a feeling of finality. Then I lower myself on the bed. I glance between my two pictures and the view outside.

Tali. Tony. Paris.

Tali.

Tony.

Paris.

"I'm in Paris, Tony," I whisper. "Please come to me. And please forgive me."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Next chapter will take place across the world in Tony's POV. That one and a few more are already written, and hopefully I will get in a few more before my spring semester starts.


	24. Believe

**Author's Note:** This next chapter is in Tony's POV. Please enjoy!

* * *

I had nowhere for Tali to sleep.

I had nowhere for Tali to sleep, and this simple fact didn't occur to me until the first night I had her when it was time to put her to bed. And as if that didn't make me feel incompetent enough, what was even worse was when I needed to pull up google and search for what kind of bed a child Tali's age was supposed to sleep in.

And that was only the start. I had to google what kind of food to feed her, the situation on diapers, car seats, and the works. If it weren't for Jimmy and his expertise on children, I surely would have drowned in all of my ignorance.

One week into my new life with Tali, and I still had not yet bought her a bed. And it wasn't because I thought this situation was temporary; that I had fooled myself into thinking that this was all a dream. No, it was really because in less than nine hours, Tali and I would be boarding a flight to Israel, and if everything went according to plan, then by the time we got back home, Ziva would be here to help me pick the right bed for her.

And yet, I had to mentally remind myself of my reasons every night as I tuck the covers around Tali on the couch and pull up a chair to prevent her from falling. However, tonight I was feeling particularly like a scummy father as Tali shifted restlessly in her spot.

"Hush, Tali," I whisper from my spot on the couch next to her. I hadn't gone to bed yet myself, and was using the dim side lamp next to me to rifle through my passport and travelling papers on my lap.

I was searching for clues, any clues that would give me a sense of what in the hell I was supposed to do once we landed in Tel Aviv. And I was beginning just to feel as restless as Tali.

"Abba," Tali manages to slither out of her blanket cocoon and shuffle across the couch to crawl into my lap.

I pass the papers onto the side table and my eyes linger on the picture of me and Ziva in Paris that I had found in Tali's travel bag. _What would Ziva do?_ I try and think. I thought after all these years I would have figured that out by now.

The trained investigator in me knew that there were some facts that didn't exactly line up about the fire Tali and Ziva had apparently been in. But the detail that struck me the most is how I found it pretty hard to believe that such a huge fire could take Ziva by such surprise that it would kill her. Even less likely, since she had a child, her child in there with her. There was no way Ziva would stop fighting to save Tali. No way.

"Ima," Tali extends a warm, chubby hand across my chest to the picture she has caught me staring at. Following her intentions for once, I lift the frame and pass it to Tali. "Ima," she repeats, her voice stifling with tears and sadness.

"Yeah, Tali. We're going to find Ima tomorrow," I say, my voice cheery. I wasn't about to tell my daughter that she would never see her mother again. Not until I was absolute certain that Ziva was dead. And probably not even then.

A sudden, sharp crash pierces the air, and I pull myself back to the present to find that Tali has dropped the photo on floor, the glass shattering loudly, as though breathing a sigh of release, the tension broken as the secret finally breaks free.

The secret that is written on the back of the photo.

Tali is sobbing now, and I carefully set her down on the cushion beside me before kneeling down in the broken glass. I take in the familiar writing on the back of the photo, and everything else fades to nothing. Tali's cries, the pain of the glass cutting into my knees, and the mess scattered all over the floor as something concrete and tangible comes before me.

Ziva's handwriting.

And even better, what she has written on the back of the picture. Cryptic and coded. Most definitely a clue.

 _Rule #3. Believe THIS._

That's all it says.

I quickly rack my brain, quickly recalling rule number three. _Never believe what you're told._ Then Ziva telling me to believe this. Only the question was, what was I told that I need not believe? And what was the 'this' she spoke of that I should believe?

My newfound fatherly instincts kicking in, I shove that aside for later when Tali was no longer crying. I flip the photo to the front side then pull myself back on the couch and lower myself down to Tali's level.

"Look, Tali. It's okay. Here's Ima's picture," I hand it to her before pulling her onto my lap.

The sobs immediately fade to a more controlled cry that eventually fades to a hiccupping fit before dying off all together. I rock Tali back and forth in my lap, saying nothing as the child's soft eyes never once drift from the picture of her parents. The picture that is now wrinkled and stained from our daughter's tears. The picture that contained the truth.

"Ima," Tali whispers, and I rub my hand up her arm softly. "Ima," Tali says more firmly, pointing to the picture this time.

Then it clicked. It was as though Tali were trying to tell me where Ziva really was, even though I knew that she actually hadn't the slightest clue. But that was the thought that popped into my head and then suddenly I knew.

Ziva wasn't in Tel Aviv. Ziva was in Paris.

The message made sense now. Rule number three. _Never believe what you're told_. Don't believe that they told me that she is dead, I realize. And _Believe THIS_. Believe this photo. Believe Ziva is there, in Paris. Waiting.

This I could easily believe. And not because it hurt too much to believe that Ziva was dead. But because Ziva would never let herself die in a fire. She'd sooner escape to Paris.

But how did I end up with Tali? And why didn't Ziva end up here with her?

o-o-o

It was going on nine o'clock at night, but my gut told me that I'd find Gibbs at NCIS before I'd find him at his house. I didn't want to call him and ask, I wanted to find him by surprise, and force him to listen to me.

But as soon as I get to NCIS, it quickly becomes obvious that I would have a difficult time making my way up to the squad room. I immediately start heading right for the clearance doors before realizing that I don't have a badge to give me that clearance.

Dejectedly, and with a certain level of modest embarrassment, I circle my way back to the entrance and sign in as a guest before getting one of those visitor tags and clipping it to my shirt.

The second time I make it to the clearance gate, the guard shoots me an apologetic smile. He recognizes me, and knows that I have resigned, so he says nothing and quietly lets me through. I make my way to the elevator and wait for it to arrive.

I couldn't believe I was already back here. It had been only a week since I resigned. But Ziva had thought it wise to pull Gibbs into this by using one of his rules, so I knew that he was who I needed to turn to next. Thankfully, my father agreed to watch Tali with no questions asked as to why I needed to see Gibbs right now, and I make a mental note to really express my gratitude later.

The first thing I see when I arrive in the squad room is my desk. Even though the room is dark and my desk is cast in shadows from the one light in the room, the one light that happens to be coming from Gibbs's desk, its _my_ desk that my eyes are drawn to first. I know I made the right decision leaving here, but old habits die hard, I guess.

"Tony," Gibbs says before I have even made it into his line of vision.

"Boss," I say surprised. He looks up at me expectantly and a beat later I realize my mistake. "Uh, I mean, Gibbs. How did you know it was me?"

Gibbs just shrugs and turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Wait, Gibbs," I step forward. "I have something I need to show you."

I can tell that somehow Gibbs understands the magnitude of my presence, because he is quiet and patient with me as I launch into the story of finding the clue on the back of the picture and what I think it means.

"So…what do you think, boss? Uh, Gibbs?" I correct.

"Why are you asking me?" he says coyly.

I hesitate, unsure of how to answer. "I don't know," I admit. "I guess, well, it's your rule, so it just seemed like the right thing to tell you."

"Well, I think that it's the right thing for you to go to Paris," he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. A faint smile toys at the corner of his lips. "If that's what you're asking."

"It is," I nod.

There is a moment then, when everything freezes. I stop breathing and I feel my chest filling with lead and pressure. Gibbs's eyes turn to ice, unreadable ice as I hold my breath and wait.

"Bring her home, Tony," Gibbs finally cracks.

I feel my body flood with relief, a broken dam, the water just rushing, pouring out.

This was the Gibbs that believed. This was the Gibbs that had a morsel of hope and who loved Ziva like a daughter. Not the infuriatingly calm Gibbs that said we'd find Kort and bring to justice Ziva's death. There was no way to find that justice.

Except by bringing her home.

Alive.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So, I know a lot of people have written post season 13 fics where Ziva is in Paris, not Israel. I also believe that this is what we are supposed to believe based on the clues left behind in the show, so that is where I am going with this. I truly believe that my take on it will be just as different and original as all the others out there, so I hope you'll all still be willing to give my fic a chance! Next chapter to be posted in a week!


	25. Gray Sky

**Author's Note:** Ziva's POV.

* * *

It was one of those days. One of those days where the humidity was almost palpable. Where you could feel the sweat bead on your upper lip, in the crook of your elbows and on the bottoms of your feet. Where it felt like you were breathing in more water than oxygen, drowning your lungs in the suffocating heat.

But there was a gray sky, and despite the barometric pressure crushing my skull, I feel myself smile slightly as I step outside _Le Petit Café Près de la Tamise_ carrying a carafe of café au lait over to the table where a boisterous couple had just taken residence.

"Café au lait?" I ask once I've made it over to their table. They both nod and I fill their cups. I set down the coffee and the creamer and then pull out my pad of paper from my apron. I take their order and then push my way back inside, making sure to send one last glance at the bright gray sky above my head.

After spending much of my life in a desert in the Middle East, I'd come to very much appreciate days like this, even if they were excruciatingly humid, where I could escape from the unforgiving sun for a day. We had days like this in Washington D.C. a lot, but Tony always hated them, saying that if the sky was going to be gray, it might as well just rain too.

And just like that I feel the smile instantly fall from my lips. Suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion I just manage to drop off my customers' order at the kitchen before taking too the dank and quiet stairwell that led up to my apartment.

Everything reminded me of Tony. And I know people say that all the time when they are missing someone, but it really is true. A simple gray sky reminded me of Tony's whining for rain. Every time a customer ordered a croissant I'd find myself back in the break room at NCIS sharing a breakfast croissant with Tony. At lunch time when the business big-wigs would drop in for a quiche, wearing their suits and ties, I would for half a second think it was Tony walking through those doors, and not some French man I did not know.

It was the same with Tali. Every time I heard a child scream, or cry, or laugh, I'd whip my head around and stop whatever I was saying or doing, hearing only Tali's voice in my mind. My heart would sink whenever a child would call for their _mère_ , and I would swear to myself that if I ever got to see my daughter again, I'd teach her French in addition to her English and Hebrew.

I would tell her in a million different languages how much I loved her and wanted the best for her. How badly I wanted to give her the innocence and childhood that was thoughtlessly stolen from me.

A shrill ringing pulls my back to the present, and I silently rise to my feet, although my head is screaming at me to sit back down and close my eyes. It's the bell that tells me the food is ready for me to bring out to the customers. I shuffle back into the kitchen, keeping my eyes cast downward to avoid the glaring and harsh fluorescent lights. I pick up my customers' food, my stomach rumbling from the smell of authentic French cuisine.

Then I wordlessly make my way back outside, the bell at the door causing my head to pound. I pause, then push forward, not wanting the food on my tray to grow cold. I give the couple a polite smile, even though their cheery voices send shockwaves up my spine. This headache was growing unbearable. I couldn't even enjoy the gray sky any longer.

"Ziva," Jean-Luc intercepts me on my way back to the door. "Prenez une pause," he says softly.

He must be able to tell that I'm fading as fast as I feel, because I immediately nod and use my last bit of energy to make it up the stairs to my mini apartment and drop onto the bed. This happened every once and a while, these headaches, and today it was only worse because of the humidity.

But the main cause was Tali and Tony. And the exhaustion of wondering if I would ever see them again and knowing there was nothing I could do to bring myself closer to them but wait. And hope.

But hope seemed so futile sometimes, when you'd spend day in and day out with no change. With the same four white walls, the same yellow awning flapping in the breeze just below your window, the same tiny glimpse of the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

I was eternally grateful to Jean-Luc for all that he had done for me in the past week. But yet I sometimes felt like I was in a prison. I hardly ever left the café, except to buy some fresh food from the market half a block away, in fear that when I was gone Tony and Tali would decide to show up. And then with our paths not crossing, I'd never see them again. So I stayed, and each day that took its toll on me.

It had been less than two weeks, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep this up.

Already I couldn't think.

So I close my eyes, and will for this headache to fade. But I can feel the light of the gray sky on the other side of my eyelids keeping me here and keeping me strong.


	26. No Rain

**Author's Note:** Tony's POV. Also, sorry, but this is really short chapter.

* * *

I was consciously avoiding the café. Tali and I had been in Paris for exactly ten hours and we had spent the last eight of them sight-seeing. Sight-seeing everywhere but at the café.

Part of me felt like an absolute ass for doing it. If Ziva where there she'd be waiting through every excruciating moment for me and Tali to get there, and here I was, wasting every excruciating moment on Le Tour Eiffel et Le Louvre et L'Arc de Triomphe. But the other part of me knew that Tali and I had rushed through every one of those other excruciating moments to get here to Paris, and now I was starting to get nervous.

What if Ziva were not at the café after all? What if I had built up this hype that the photograph was a sign, like the photograph she had left as a sign in Israel just a few years ago? What if I got there and didn't find her? I'd be back to square one with not the slightest clue of where to find her and without the slightest clue that she was even still alive.

Or worse, what if Ziva had been at the café, but it had taken me too long to find the clue behind the picture and she had moved on, not willing to risk staying in one area for too long and giving up on me and Tali ever being able to find her?

It was impossible and frustrating. There was no way to find out if I had the right answer because there were no answers.

And when Tali starts crying, it takes all my strength not to curl up around her and cry too.

We have just finished touring the Eiffel Tower and are now standing not too far from one of its bases. When we had been up there I narrowed my eye in every place I saw a speck of yellow, trying to discern if it were the yellow awning of the café whose name I could not remember. But with no luck, Tali and I had ended our tour early with me feeling more than discouraged and Tali feeling like…crying.

"Hush shhh shhh, Tali," I start to roll her stroller back and forth. "We'll go find Ima now, okay?" I whisper. When she doesn't stop crying I move toward a nearby bench and sit down, reaching into my bag to pull out her stuffed dog whose name still ailed me.

"Here you go Tali, look," I pass the dog to her, but she shoves it away and keeps wailing. "All right, come here sweetie," I unbuckle her belt and pick her up. She immediately wraps her hands, damp with tears, around my neck and starts to sniffle onto my shirt. But it doesn't bother me in the least and I start to rub her back which I had learned pretty quickly did a good job of calming her down.

We sit there for several moments and I wait patiently as her sniffles subside. In the meantime, I people watch and try not to think too much about what may or may not wait for us at the café. The crowd of people is not very thick today, as the sky is gray. Unfortunately, there is no chance of rain, so we are all left with this endless gray sky and the looming tower that reaches into it. Still, there are plenty of people who came anyways, and most of them stand with their hands outstretched, smartphones snapping selfies with the Eiffel Tower in the background.

To my right, not too far from the bench where Tali and I are sitting, is a family taking a picture. And it sends a knife through my gut at the sight of them. A mother. A father. And their daughter, who is about the same age as Tali. And they are all smiling and holding hands as someone takes their picture for them. It's ironic. If things had played out differently, if one step had been taken in a new direction, that family taking a photograph could've been me, Ziva, and Tali. But instead, we are broken and the only thing holding us together is a single photograph, the same photograph that Tali was currently pulling out of my bag.

"Ima," Tali says happily.

This only breaks my heart further. That my child had become accustomed to this photograph being the equivalent to her mother was the furthest thing from okay. And it was time to fix that.

"That's right Tali," I try to keep my voice cheerful. "Let's go find Ima now, okay?"

I strap Tali into her stroller. The happily little family is gone.

Then, in search of my own happy little family, I take my first step towards the café.


End file.
